


U is for uterus

by Hagzissa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Bi!Dean, Charlie Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Cisswap, Dean Hates Witches, F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, Karaoke, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Periods, Pie, Sexism, Witch Curses, a little bit of gay panic, case elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3675039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hagzissa/pseuds/Hagzissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a witch puts a curse on him, Dean suddenly finds himself in a different body. Sam is having a field day, but his teasing isn't the worst thing about being  perceived as a woman. For the first time Dean is confronted with fake pockets, period cramps and sexist douchebags. Just then Castiel decides to spend some quality time with his human protégés. Gay panic ensues. Will Dean come to terms with his bisexuality and turn back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for angel perception

**Author's Note:**

> About the rating: There is one explicit sex scene, the rest of the text contains a bit of mature language.  
> Dean has some stuff with original characters, but never in a romantic way. His feelings for Cas do not change, because his body changes.  
> I refer to Dean as he/him throughout the story.  
> The story doesn't fit into the canon timeline - there's the Bunker, but Dean and Cas' relationship is more like it was during season 5. There are some mild spoilers up till season 8, so read at your own risk :)  
> It's not beta-read, so sorry in advance for any mistakes, they're all mine.

“Fucking witches!” Dean cursed. “Seriously?! This?!”

He was holding up his pants, so they wouldn’t slip off his ass. He’d been sleeping in the clothes he’d been wearing the day before. They were far too large and baggy.

“Well, to be fair, you called her girlfriend a ‘fucked up cunt’,” Sam said matter-of-factly.

Dean didn’t like the grin on his brother’s face. Did he think this was a fucking joke? And besides, collecting dogs’ bones _was_ fucked up.

“Anyway, I guess the spell was meant for someone else,” Sam added, “She was half-way through casting it, when we interrupted her.”

After Dean’s insult, she had thrown a pot filled with herbs and bones into the fireplace. Dean couldn’t recall anything from this point on. He’d woken up in his room in the Bunker, not quite himself.

“Remember that d-bag of a neighbor?”

“I don’t care who the curse was meant for, Sam!” Dean shouted.

His voice was high-pitched and trembling, as though he was about to cry, while actually, he would’ve liked to punch someone. “She cursed _me!_ ”

He threw another glance at the mirror above the sink. A young woman was staring back at him, fuming. She had pouty lips, fierce green eyes that looked strikingly familiar, freckles all over her face, and a hazel mane of hair. He was a girl. A _girl_.

“Well, I sure as hell ain’t staying like this,” he decided.

He cleared his throat.

“CAS!”

 

The angel’s arrival was announced by the familiar rustle of wings. Castiel’s hair was more ruffled than ever; his tie was hanging lopsidedly down his neck. He looked like he’d been in a great hurry. His angel blade was drawn. He quickly stepped closer to Dean, ready to protect him from harm. When he discovered no immediate danger, he relaxed and turned around to face his human protégé.

He seemed confused, but also relieved. So was Dean. This nightmare would be over before it could start.

“Dean?” Cas asked, “What is wrong? You sounded… distressed.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. What did he mean? Wasn’t it obvious?

“What’s wrong?!” Dean repeated, “ _This_ is wrong! I’m fuckin’ Taylor Swift, that’s what’s wrong!”

Castiel furrowed his eyebrows as if he was concentrating really hard. The look of confusion changed into one of sudden realization. “Oh,” he made.

“Yeah, _oh_!” Dean imitated Cas.

In his corner, Sam was chuckling. Asshole.

“I didn’t notice -” Castiel started, but he was cut short by Dean. “Pah, you didn’t notice, are you blind or what?!”

His face was hot from all the shouting due to the initial panic and the subsequent anger.

“Dean,” Castiel said in that serious voice of his that somehow always managed to give Dean the heebie-jeebies, “angels primarily perceive a human’s soul. A person’s physical form is only a secondary factor – a body can never be as unique as a human’s soul. Especially a soul like yours, Dean. There’s no soul in Heaven nor Hell which I know better. I could recognize it in _any_ body. When I raised you from perdition my grace fused with your soul, forever leaving an imprint -”

Dean’s hand subconsciously wandered to his upper arm where he knew the handprint must be. He could feel it through the thin fabric of his shirt, now much bigger in relation to his female hand. He felt uncomfortable under the piercing look of the angel.

Castiel still believed him to be the Righteous Man. Dean didn’t know how to feel when Cas proclaimed his soul to be unique. He didn’t feel unique. He didn’t feel righteous. But right from the start Cas had deemed him worth saving.

“You called me. I came. How can I help you?”

Dean inhaled. Back to business. He had to turn back. Pronto.

“Can you fix it?”

“Fix what?” Cas asked puzzled, tilting his head to the side.

“ _Me_ , dumbo.”

“I can’t, I’m afraid,” Cas said.

“What do you mean, ‘you can’t’?! You’ve healed me before!”

“Having a female body is not an illness, Dean…”

“Look, man,” Dean said, stepping closer to Cas only to realize that he was now ridiculously short in comparison, “I’m a girl. I’ve got _boobs!_ ”

“I’ve never had the impression that you were averse to breasts,” Castiel stated, “Don’t you keep numerous magazines for the sole purpose of looking at them?”

“Yeah, I like them on other people, Cas, goddamn it -”

“I wouldn’t call you a girl either – the body you’re inhibiting is sexually mature, so you’d be a woman. Still, since you’re clearly not identifying as such-”

Dean sighed. Why did every conversation with Cas feel like a lecture?

“Just reverse the spell, would ya?”

“I told you: I can’t.”

“But you’re an angel!” Dean protested.

There was basically nothing the angel couldn’t do, from smiting a demon to flying to Reykjavík in under a second. Surely reversing some witch magic should be a piece of cake? He exchanged a look with his brother. He didn’t seem to be amused anymore. If the angel didn’t know a cure, shit was serious.

“It is a very old and complex curse. Similar to your angel warding, it cannot be affected by what you call _angel_ _mojo_.”

He used air quotes to express his dislike of the term.

“Listen, Dean, I’m sure the Men of Letters have a countercurse,” Sam said, trying his best to sound reassuring. “Just… fix your pants,” he said with a grin, “and we’ll hit the books.”

* * *

Sam had left for the library. Cas didn’t budge. Dean wished that the angel would grant him some privacy, he was rumbling the closet for something that fit.

It was a bit silly, because Cas had seen almost naked more than once. After a long hunt he needed a shower, whether Cas tagged along or not. But in this body that didn’t quite belong to him, he felt vulnerable. So when he undressed, he hid behind the door of his closet. He was not in the mood of explaining human etiquette to the angel right now.

Dean had shrunken about six inches. All his clothes were far too big, he found out, especially his jeans. He tried to fix the issue by tying a belt around his hip, but it still looked ridiculous. He was in constant danger of tumbling over the seam.

“I can get you some clothes, if you wish,” Castiel offered from the other side of the closet door.

“Hell, no, _you_ ’re not gonna choose what I wear,” Dean said, “I’m not gonna be the secretary to your tax accountant.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas huffed somewhat offended, “I was merely offering my assistance.”

There was a woosh and Cas was gone. Dean sighed. Then he remembered that Charlie had forgotten a pair of sweat pants on her last visit. He went to fetch them from the laundry. He was swaying slightly with each step, still having to find his balance. This was so totally not cool.

 

He joined Sam and Cas in the library. He was glad to see the latter had not left. He didn’t need a fight with Castiel on top of everything.

He groaned at the sight of the long table laden with stacks of heavy books.

“The angel warding narrowed it a bit down,” Sam said, barely looking up when Dean entered.

Dean sat down on the other side of the table, grabbed a book and sighed.

“That’s what you called ‘narrow it down’?” he said. “Hey, Cas, remember that time you looked _everywhere_ in a second? Could you do that again, maybe?”

“That was different,” Cas said. “Looking for a person or an object is easy, but extracting information from numerous sources isn’t the same.”

Well, reading it was then; he might as well get it done now.

 

Cas had helped them greatly with the reading. He could process the words much quicker than a human, but he seemed as clueless as the brothers.

Still, he proved to be helpful when their empty stomachs started to growl.

“What do you want?” Castiel asked them.

“How about Chinese?” Sam checked with his brother.

“Yeah, make it Chinese,” Dean agreed.

Only a short time later the angel reappeared, carrying two plastic bags of steaming food. Both Winchesters jumped at the food like animals. They unpacked it hastily and were greeted by unfamiliar smells.

“What is this, Cas?” Dean asked warily.

“Chinese food, as you requested.”

“You mean this is _real_ Chinese food?” Sam asked, sounding excited.  He looked at the angel with admiration. “Wow, thanks, Cas.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel said.

“Alright, quit flirting the two of you,” Dean grunted, “We still have some reading to do.”

 

* * *

 

“Dean?!” Sam’s voice came to him.

“Huh?” Dean made.

He had fallen asleep, with his face on top of a book. His hair was obscuring his view. He impatiently brushed it aside.

“I think I found something. It’s a piece of Celtic magic. Here, listen:

 _The Change of the Moon Spell is a spell of Scottish origin that has been used since 400 AD, yet it is based upon even older magic rites. There are several ingredients needed for the spell, many of them hard to find nowadays. Only if mixed in the correct -_ ”

“Get to the point, will ya?!” Dean interrupted his brother’s lecture.

Sam rolled his eyes, but obeyed.

“ _As the incantation suggests, the spell will ‘turn a lord into a wench, turn lordliness into woefulness; change him like the moon changes, and for a whole moon He will be Her’_.”

“What do you mean ‘for a whole moon He will be Her’?!”

“Before people used the Gregorian calendar, the year was measured in moon cycles instead of months,” Sam explained, “so I guess that means that the spell turns you into a woman for roughly a month.”

A month?!

“Does it say anything on how to reverse it?” Dean asked.

Cas, who had looked over Sam’s shoulder, said: “We can’t.”

“But -”

“It was intended as a punishment for especially arrogant men,” Sam said, “and not supposed to be reversed. You just have to wait until it wears off.”

 

*

It was not that late – for the Winchesters’ standards that is to say – when Dean started yawning. Perhaps this body wasn’t used to sleepless nights. He felt rather tired.

“I’ll hit the hay,” he announced.

“What?” Castiel asked confused, looking around as if he expected a haystack between the bookshelves.

“He’s going to sleep,” Sam explained.

“I’ll watch over you,” Cas offered.

“Thanks, man, really,” Dean said carefully, “but, you know, this is, like, the safest place on Earth and I would really like some time on my own.”

“Oh, right. I’ll just stay here, then,” Cas replied.

He wasn’t sure how to deal with Cas crossing lines on what friends, especially male friends, were normally doing. Invading his personal space on a regular basis was one thing, but watching over each other’s sleep – when not out camping on a hunt or something – was on a whole new level.

It didn’t bother him, really. It was supposed to feel wrong, but he liked having the angel around and sometimes he just didn’t have the heart to tell Cas to step back a little. It was nice having him around after days almost solely in the company of his little brother. They needed a little buffer zone once in a while. To signalize Cas that he was still welcome and gave him a jovial pat on the shoulder before exiting.

 

Cas sat down in an armchair, looking quite out of place, like someone who wasn’t used to sitting. Sam sighed and started to put books back into shelves. He, too, was tired. He expected Cas to vanish like he usually did when the work was done, but when he turned around, the angel was still sitting in the corner, inspecting the Bunker’s ceiling.

“So, Cas, you okay?” he asked.

It was nothing unusual for Castiel to help them out with things but he seldom stayed long. It was always Dean who asked him to stay a little longer and have a beer with them, insisting that it was all part of the job. Cas always refused the drink, but he stayed. This time, however, Dean had not really asked him to stay. Sam wasn’t complaining. He liked Cas’ company, but it was out of the ordinary and in their job _out of the ordinary_ usually meant trouble.

“I am fine.”

“Don’t you have angel business to do?”

“It can wait for now,” Castiel replied. “Dean needs my help.”


	2. B is for bras and burritos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deano goes shopping and kisses "Steve".

When Dean woke up the next morning he was lying flat on his back. For a moment he thought it had all been just a dream. He turned around to lie on his stomach when he felt his breasts being squashed by the mattress.

“Shit,” he grunted.

 

He lumbered to the bathroom, a spacious tiled room with several showers and sinks – something you might have expected in a school. It always made him question the Men of Letters’ hygiene habits. Had they been showering together? Maybe there was a reason other than blatant misogyny that explained their reluctance of accepting women in their order.

Dean stripped off his t-shirt and boxers and took a proper look at himself in the tarnished mirror. He turned to all sides, inspecting himself. His face was probably conventionally attractive with the round eyes and big lips. He was not exactly delicate – his thighs were almost the same size that they had been before. He looked trained but not as bulky. The anti-possession tattoo on his chest, like the handprint, was still there.

He wondered whether he would’ve found himself attractive if he had met himself. He didn’t look like the girls in his magazines but he knew the photos were about as authentic as his FBI badges. His breasts were not large and fit his overall body type. He gave them a gentle squeeze. It felt weird to _feel_ it on the receiving end, as well. His vulva was covered in a triangle of brownish pubes, which felt soft, when he touched them. He let his slim fingers glide further down, his index finger gingerly delving into –

A throat was cleared. Dean jumped, a high-pitched little scream escaping his lips. Sam, wrapped in a towel, was standing in the doorway, ready for his morning shower. Dean grabbed his own towel and tried to cover himself as much as possible.

“Dude, I’m naked!” he protested.

“Man, you’re still my brother,” Sam said.

He passed Dean without paying much attention to him and stripped off himself. He turned on the water and started washing his hair.

“You’re unbelievable,” Dean said, while he properly wrapped up himself.

He felt like a burrito. A harassed burrito.

“Catching you touch yourself isn’t exactly a premiere. And it isn’t a surprise, either, you know."

* * *

“Alright, let’s go,” Sam said.

They went to the garage, where Sam had parked the Impala the night before. Cas was apparently annoyed that they had to use _human_ _transport_. Dean had insisted, however. Using the toilet hadn’t been exactly pleasant – he highly suspected that the Chinese food was the reason. He was sure that Cas’ ‘beaming’ qualities would do him no good either. Adding to this, he was still wearing Charlie’s sweat pants and the smallest shirt he could find. It was uncomfortable and he was rather irritable.

Dean instinctively went to the driver’s side.

“I’m driving,” Sam declared, gently pushing him aside.

“What?!” Dean protested.

“You don’t have a driver’s license, sister,” Sam said cheekily.

Dean walked around the hood and took his seat shot-gun, glaring at his younger brother. Castiel zapped directly into the backseat, not bothering to open the door. Dean was astonished that the angel was not simply meeting up with them at the mall. In fact, he wondered why Castiel was still with them _at all_. Normally he popped off as soon as the monster was killed and the wounds licked. Cas, however, acted like it was perfectly normal for him to go grocery shopping with a bunch of humans.

The drive to a mall on the outskirts of Lebanon was short.

“I’ll get the groceries; you buy some clothes,” Sam said, “and Cas, you-”

“I’ll stay with Dean,” Castiel announced.

“Great. Meet in two hours?” Sam suggested.

Dean nodded in agreement.

* * *

 

Dean had never particularly liked shopping. It was a necessity. He had made a list – he would buy a couple shirts and pairs of pants, underwear, socks, shoes, and something that could pass off as an FBI outfit. A blazer jacket and white shirt would do. Most people didn’t know the FBI’s dress code by heart. Otherwise Sam would’ve had to go to the hairdresser’s ages ago. It was all a matter of looking important. It shouldn’t be hard to buy some clothes, Dean thought. He was _so_ wrong.

 

“How is someone supposed to fit in here?!” Dean asked, as he unsuccessfully tried to zip up the third pair of jeans.

Most pants were too tight. He could not move properly, and the ones in which he could, nearly fell off his ass. The ones that were comfortable to wear were not made of denim, which he preferred because it was tear-proof and therefore extra protection. There were reasons why he _didn’t do shorts_ : fangs and claws and nettles and raw asphalt. Hunting was a rough job.

He tried to make sense out of the sizes, but all those labels adding to the numbers confused him.

Shoes were a serious problem, too. The soles were super thin; almost every shoe had a heel. In the end he settled with a pair of trainers which he kept on – he’d been walking around in his far too big slippers like a hobo. He also purchased a pair of ballet flats. He could wear those while investigating.

 

Next on his list was underwear. He had thought that he’d just grab a pack of panties and that was it. He hadn’t thought that a bra was necessary, but the fabric of his t-shirt on his bare nipples felt weird and his boobs going up and down with every step he took, did annoy him. Strolling through the women’s underwear department was kind of cool, he thought. There was some sexy lingerie he was admittedly _dying_ to try on but Cas followed close behind. He looked down his chest. Should he have measured his breasts or something? How was he supposed to know which bra size would fit him? He grabbed some bras at random, in a light nude color.

He headed off to the changing rooms, Cas tailing him.

Dean’s numerous female conquests had made him familiar with bra latches, but usually he just had to open them. Putting the bra on, however, was quite a different matter. He tried to do it like he had seen Lisa do it, but either he didn’t remember it correctly or she had been wearing a completely different bra, because it sure wasn’t working.

“Jesus,” Dean cursed, with his hands behind his back.

“What about him?” Castiel’s voice sounded directly behind the curtain.

Damn, was he spying through the gap or what?

The wire sewed under the cups felt heavy. The bra was far too small; the fat wobbled under his armpits and his nipples were showing. He sighed deeply. So, the whole procedure. Again.

“Jesus,” he muttered again.

“Dean, why are you saying the name of my father’s son?” Castiel asked.

“Because I’m frustrated, that’s why,” Dean replied.

“You are having problems to find undergarments to cover your breasts.”

“Yes, obviously.”

“I’ll help you,” Cas said and then there was the sound of wings.

“Cas, what are you -?”

Dean peaked out of the cubicle. The angel was nowhere in sight.

“Fuck,” he said, quickly putting on his t-shirt again.

Leaving Castiel on his own in a store full of people? Not the best idea.

 

Dean was craning his neck, searching for Cas. Soon he spotted the man in the tan trench coat, standing in front of the black lacy bra he had been eyeing previously. So it hadn’t gone unnoticed, then. Castiel was looking around, squinting, searching for a bra for Dean. So, he had been inspecting – hell, measuring – his boobs with his fucking x-ray vision! Dean was slightly appalled. What a perv!

Another woman apparently thought the same.

“You spying on girls, are ya? Lookin’ what they buying? Huh, pervert!”

Dean sped toward them. He had to admit Cas _did_ look a bit suspicious with his coat and all. He had to do something or the woman would call security and Cas would do something stupid, like blowing them away with the Laser Look of the Lord.

Dean took a deep breath.

“Hey, Steve, honey, there you are,” he crooned, accidently pitching his voice even higher.

He linked their arms together.

“I thought I’d _lost_ you,” he said desperately, hoping Cas would play along.

The woman looked taken aback at this twist of events, yet still defensive. Dean looked up to Cas, who was eyeing him warily, as if he thought Dean had suddenly gone crazy.

Maybe he had. Maybe he was just being very thorough, (because, well, playing pretend was a huge part of his job and it was all about being convincing, right –) because next thing he did was tip-toeing and placing a chaste kiss on Castiel’s lips. He half expected Castiel to push him away, but the angel seemed too startled. Dean quickly pulled back, grabbing Castiel’s arm and pulling him away from the aisle, where an unseen force had pushed over a rack of corsages.

When they were out of sight, Dean stopped, letting go of Cas’ arm. Dean could hear feathers rustling and thought that Cas would leave, but he was wrong. The angel just stood there stone-faced.

“Why did you refer to me as Steve and kissed me?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and staring at him, as if he attempted to read his mind.

Which was probable, but Dean tried not to think about it.

“You forced me to,” Dean said, not looking directly at Cas.

“I would never – How can you say that, Dean? I would never attempt to approach you without your consent!” Castiel said, sounding almost indignant.

“The lady was -,” Dean tried to explain, while simultaneously trying to process Cas’ words. “Er, forget it, let’s go.”

He headed for the cashpoint, mindlessly picking up a pack of lady-boxers.

“Here,” Castiel said, snapping his fingers.

Three bras appeared, one of them the lacy black one.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbled.

A look on the price tags quickly let him forget his embarrassment.


	3. C is for creepy cop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go hunting!

The brothers were sitting in the library, their laptops in front of them. Castiel had left them alone, muttering something about going to Finland but most definitely coming back soon.

“Hey, Sam, I might have found something,” Dean announced.

“On the witches?” Sam asked.

 “Nope. Three bloodless corpses up in Wyoming.”

“Vamps?” Sam suggested, looking up from his laptop, where he, too, had been searching for a case.

“Seems so. I’ll go pack my stuff.”

Dean stood up, closing his laptop.

“Hey, Dean, wait!”

“What is it?” Dean asked annoyed, turning around.

“You sure you can handle that?”

“Handle what?”

“Hunting,” Sam said simply.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Um, because you’re under a spell and we have no idea how that might affect your ability to fight…”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“I’m still _me_ , Sam, with tits or without.”

Sam sighed. He, too, stood up. Folding his arms in front of his chest he said: “Alright, prove it.”

“What?!”

“Prove that you can still fight.”

“Alright.”

 

Sam and Dean went down to the garage which was the most spacious place in the Bunker. They stood opposite of each other, five yards apart. Dean rolled his hands into fists, his legs in a solid stance. He was ready, or so he told himself.

Sam was so incredibly tall. He seemed like a bear, towering over him. It was an intimidating view. For the first time Dean understood how the monsters they hunted must feel like.

Sam advanced on him. His large fist was aimed at Dean’s head. Dean held up an arm to ward the swing off. He had overestimated his power, however. The blow hit him right on the cheekbone, its vehemence only slightly attenuated by his ineffective block.

Hot pain seeped through his face, making him see white before his eyes – and this was Sam going easy on him, he knew it. A straight blow from his brother would have knocked him out. He had been the one who had taught him how to punch, after all. There was no time for pride, however.

Sam struck him with a second blow aimed at his short-rips. The air was pressed out of his lungs, making him bow and cough.

Sam allowed him to straighten up. Dean had his eyes fixed on his brother, waiting for his next attack. Again, Sam was going for his head. Dean had learnt his lesson. He dodged the blow and jabbed his elbow into Sam’s stomach. His brother grunted as he hit his abs and grabbed Dean’s shoulder. In no time Sam had him in a headlock that was so tight that Dean was struggling for air. He clawed his fingernails into Sam’s lower arm, but he wouldn’t budge.

With all the strength he could muster he stomped on Sam’s foot. He loosened his grip for a moment and Dean could escape.

Still short of breath Dean started his counter attack. Trying to punch him in the face while Sam stood upright would have been a ridiculous idea. Dean kicked him in the guts, and had it followed by a knee strike. In this crouched position, it was impossible for Sam to defend himself against the hit Dean placed between his shoulder blades. Grabbing the fabric of Sam’s jacket, he yanked his brother down on the hard concrete, where he landed face first.

Dean stepped back, pleased with himself.

“I’ll check if there’s enough dead man’s blood in the trunk,” Dean announced triumphantly, wiping sweat from his forehead.

* * *

 

“ _Diana Prince_?” Sam read skeptically, when Dean handed him his new driver’s license.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m _Wonder Woman_.”

Dean grinned. Sam grinned back weakly. There were scratch marks on his cheek, where his face had scraped over the floor. His stomach was hurting a bit, too.

Dean had been pissed that his brother had doubted his ability to fight – but now that he had shown him the ropes, he considered them even.

He had insisted on faking a driver’s license first, so he could finally sit behind the steering wheel again.

“Dude, it’s only been two days,” Sam had said.

“Don’t listen to him, baby. I missed you,” he reassured his car, patting the dashboard.

Dean had to adjust the front bench so he could reach the pedals. It was frustrating. He hadn’t imagined their reunion like this.

“I can’t fit my legs in here,” Sam grumbled.

 

* * *

 

They were in a motel room in Flounce, Wyoming, changing into their fed outfits. To his dismay Dean had discovered that both his jeans and blazer had fake pockets. He could barely contain his anger. What was the point of fake pockets?! He wrote a mental note to ask Cas how he did the trick with his angel blade, then he handed the phone and keys to Sam, who let them slip into his suit’s pockets with ease.

While Sam knotted his tie, Dean tried to put his hair in a bun for a professional look. After a rather unsuccessful attempt, he tied it into an unkempt ponytail. Sam had given him the hair ties, a big grin plastered on his face. “I’m not the one in need of advice on hair styling, Rapunzel,” he had said.

At the police station, they were greeted by a stout police officer with a pink face. He had his feet placed on the table. As they approached the desk, Dean could feel his eyes wander all over his body. He felt exposed in the body-hugging jeans and the waisted blazer.

They produced their FBI badges. Upon seeing the badges, the officer took his feet off the table.

“What can I do for you, sir?” he asked Sam, in an obedient tone.

“Agent Solo, FBI,” Sam introduced himself, “and this is my partner, Agent Harry. We’re here to inspect the bodies of the three teenagers.”

“Jimmy didn’t tell me you’d come,” he said, coming around his desk. “Sure he would’ve ended his vacation, had he known the FBI would send their hottest agent.”

He winked at Dean, his thick thumbs placed behind his belt. When Dean ignored him, he addressed Sam again.

“This way, sir,” he said, leading them through a short, narrow corridor which he seemed to fill entirely.

He stopped in front of a door.

“Here we are,” he said and Dean could feel his hot breath on his cheek. “You might wanna wait outside, sweetheart. It’s no sight for a lady.”

No ‘sight for a lady’? Which century where they living in?!

“Oh, believe me, _sweetheart_ , I’ve seen worse,” Dean replied. “And I’m no lady,” he added coolly.

“Hey, just trying to be a gentleman, here,” he said defensively.

_Well, you can shove it,_ Dean thought.

“You’re obstructing our investigation,” Dean said with clenched teeth.

“Alright, calm down,” he said and Dean was one hundred percent sure that in his thoughts he had added “bitch”.

 

Dean stepped closer to the slab with the girl on it, skin ashen. He pulled off the cover a little, to get a better look. The name tag said she had been Tanya Rakinski, age 16.

She had the typical circular bite marks of a vampire on her neck, but that wasn’t it. There were stab wounds in her lower abdomen, as well.

The other two teenagers were boys, both 19. The name suggested that one of them was Tanya’s brother.

Sam exchanged irritated looks with Dean. A vamp that stabbed their victim first?! That was definitely something new. Usually vampires could overpower an unarmed human easily – they had no need for stabbing. Also the wounds were small, as if they were inflicted with a pocket knife. Not exactly a killer’s weapon of choice.

The boys looked pretty much the same as the girl, one had a few scratches on his face as well, the other one bruise marks next to the bite. The size of the bruises suggested that they were caused by rather small hands. So, suffocation?

“Cause of death?” Sam asked the officer.

“Well, what do you make of it, Agent Mulder?” he replied with a smirk.

“Do you think the death of three teenagers is funny?” Sam asked, eyebrow raised.

“No, sir,” he said hastily, “and it’s actually three deaths and a missing person.”

“Is it?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, Louis Morland, who went to school with the boys, has been missing for the last five days.”

 

They asked the officer for a copy of the coroner’s report and all case files.

“Well, I have to check with my superior, you know. We usually don’t give away our files.”

“Would you be so kind and call your superior?” Dean asked, impatiently.

“That’d be Jim and he’s gone fishing, so his phone’s probably turned off…”

Dean turned to Sam to exchange an annoyed look, but his brother was looking pointedly at him and nodding toward the policeman. It took Dean some time to understand what his brother was trying to tell him. He wanted him to flirt with him so they got the files. Dean was disgusted. Yet, they needed them to make progress. The officer thought him to be hot, so it made sense. He did this quite often – flirting to get information. It had almost become a second nature to him. And sometimes, when he got lucky, it even got him laid. This time, however, he did most certainly not want to get laid.

“Uh…” Dean said, looking for a name tag. He found one on the desk. “Dwight. What do you say, you let me and my partner borrow the files for a couple hours, we do some work and then… we could, you know, meet up for a drink. They do have bars in Flounce, Wyoming, don’t they?”

The effect was almost immediate. Dwight straightened, which made his belly protrude, then he cleared his throat.

“Um. I guess that’s okay then.”

He quickly scribbled a number on a piece of paper, then he handed over with the case files.

“See you later,” Dean said and quickly exited from the building.

 

“I feel dirty!” Dean said, punching Sam into the ribs.

“Aw, cause you had to flirt with a guy?”

“No, because he was a gross, sweaty d-bag with eighteenth century views on women, okay?! First of all he undressed me with his eyes and then he ignores me but it’s all ‘oh, sir, what can I do for you, sir?’ And then he called me a sweetheart and told me to stay outside, what the hell?!”

* * *

 

It felt good to be able to change into something more comfortable. As soon as they were back at the motel, Dean put on one of his old shirts. It hung loosely down his body and he wondered whether that perv of a cop whould’ve reacted the same if he had been wearing this. He turned up the sleeves and stretched. He felt more like himself. Now all he needed was something to eat, some pie if he could get it. He deserved it after all these indignities.

Sam had started reading the files and Dean headed out to _fetch some grub_.

He was in the line at a local _Biggerson’s_ when his cell phone rang. It was stored in a paper bag from their last grocery run, together with his wallet. Damn those fake pockets.

“Hello?” he asked when he had finally managed to pick up.

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice said.

“Hey, Cas, what’s up?” he said.

“I don’t understand…”

“I mean: _How are you? What are you doing?_ Something along the lines…”

“I understand. I am looking for you.”

“We’re in Flounce, Wyoming, digging into a case. You wanna come, or…?”

“If you don’t mind?”

“Sure. I don’t mind. I’m at a burger joint at the mo’. _Biggerson’s._ But don’t zap in here! No need to scare the civilians. You can wait with the car, alright?”

The response was a beep. Cas had ended the phone call.

 

“Have you checked out our low-carb menu?” the woman at the counter asked, “We’ve got some fresh new salads which you can have with diet coke or water…”

“Yeah, thanks, but I’d like to have two double cheeseburgers with extra bacon, please, and pie for dessert if you have some.”

“Okay…”

When she handed him the bags with junk food he said: “Thanks, swee-” He bit his tongue. “Thanks.”

With the three paper bags in his hands and his car keys in his mouth he went to the parking lot. He expected to see Cas waiting in front of his baby, but when he arrived, he saw the fucker was already sitting shotgun, inspecting the content of the glove compartment. It contained not only a bottle of holy water but also a stack of condoms, Dean recalled in horror.

If the angel thought the mixture was blasphemous, however, he didn’t remark on it.

“So, Dean, ‘what’s up’?” Cas asked, using his beloved air quotes.

“ _What’s up?_ ” Dean repeated in disbelief.

“Yes, how are you? What are you doing?”

“Well, apart from the fact that I’ve had to flirt with the most revolting cop north of the Mason-Dixon line, I’ve been called ‘sweetheart’ and that I got weird looks for ordering a double cheeseburger, I’m fine.”

“I thought ‘sweetheart’ is a term of endearment,” Castiel said, while Dean handed him the food bags.

“It is, but only if you are, uh, _endeared_.”

“I see.”


	4. D is for Dean in distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EW VAMPIRES / Cas is a knight in shining armour pass it on / also why did Emma die

“Dean, get this,” Sam said when he entered, “The girl had already been sucked dry when she got stabbed.”

“So, what, vamp drinks her, and then stabs her for fun and giggles?”

“Seems like it.”

“That doesn’t make sense!”

Dean sat down with Sam at the table.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam greeted him.

“Hello, Sam.”

They started eating.

“Figure the vamp attack is connected to the missing boy?” Dean asked.

“Possible. The vics knew him, so -”

Castiel interrupted them.

“There are no vampires in this town.”

“What?”

“I cannot feel the presence of a vampire. Unless they have found a way to protect themselves from my senses - which is highly unlikely - there are none.”

“Nomadic vamps?” Sam suggested.

“Still doesn’t explain the knifing.”

They sat a moment in silence.

“Think it’s not too late to go interview the families?”

“Yeah, alright, let’s go.”

 

That meant they had to change again. Dean went into the small attached bathroom to do so. Sam was his brother. And Cas was his friend, the closest friend he had ever had beside Sam.

Still, he felt like he had to protect his female body from the male gaze. It was silly, absolutely silly. What was so different about it? Was he feeling that way because he was a woman and Cas a man? Well, Cas was not even a man, not really. Angels were sexless. They were older than creation, older than the terrestrial concept of sexual polarity. Some of angels chose their human vessel based on the gender they could identify most with, but generally it was chance. Dean had no idea how Cas thought about it. He hadn’t thought about it before, so he’d never asked. Cas had chosen Jimmy because he was devotional, not because he was male, hadn’t he?

Still, he didn’t know how he would have felt if Cas had chosen a female vessel. _Oh God, would I have flirted with him if he had been in some hot chick?_ Dean thought. The answer was Yes, of course.

He tried to imagine a female Cas – or rather a female Jimmy: large blue eyes, a dimpled face, the trench coat of course and yeah, maybe even short hair like Cas was having right now. Ruffled short hair that he would like to tidy, that would be soft under his touch. And Cas would lean into the touch like a kitten and he would purr with that deep voice of his and his lips that had been surprisingly soft when– no, he had to stop. Cas was his _friend_. He shook his head. His female imagination had gone haywire for a moment. Dean was not gay. And Cas, well, if Dean hadn’t met other angels than Cas he would never have thought that sexual attraction was even possible for them. Cas was certainly not going to _respond_ to Dean’s new body. Angels primarily perceived a human’s soul, right?

Dean sighed. Why was he even thinking about that kind of shit?

 

* * *

 

They had the parents’ addresses from the case file and first headed out to the Rakinskis’.

“Cas, you keep it cool, right? Let us do the talking and for _heaven’s_ sake no angel mojo, okay?”

“I don’t understand how this is connected to the sake of Heaven, but I will do as you ask.”

“Right. You still got your badge?”

“Yes.”

Dean rang.

After a little time, the door was opened by a small woman with a pale face and a red nose.

“Yes?” she asked warily, looking at them in suspicion.

“Are you Mrs Rakinski?” Sam asked calmly.

She nodded and asked: “Who are you?”

“We’re with the FBI,” Sam answered, “We’re very sorry for your loss. We’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened, if you don’t mind.”

They showed her their badges which she studied carefully.

“We already talked to the police…” she said.

“This is just fact checking; we won’t be long,” Sam assured her.

“Well, alright, come on in,” she said. “Colin?!” she called her husband, who appeared from upstairs.

 

The Rakinskis led them into their living room. Mrs Rakinski sat down in an armchair, her husband standing behind her, arms crossed. The pretend feds had no choice but to sit down on the couch opposite. Dean sat between Sam and Cas, who were both using up a lot of space, leaving Dean squashed in the middle. He was terribly conscious of Cas’ thigh against his.

“What can you tell us about said night?” Sam asked.

Mrs Rakinski was unable to say anything, but her husband told them with a monotonous voice what he remembered, as if he had to distance himself from the reality. Their kids had met with their son’s buddy, Patrick, to camp on the side of a lake not far away. They had taken the car and had left at six o’clock.

“Did anyone have a grudge against them?” Dean asked.

“No. No,” Mrs Rakinski said now, “There are… _were_ nice kids. Popular. Lots of friends. No one would…”

She let her voice trail off and produced a heavily used handkerchief from the pocket of her pants. She blew her nose, the sound almost offensively loud in comparison to the quiet conversation that they had had.

“Anything strange you noticed?” Dean asked, just to make sure.

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like, don’t know, maybe some sort of hobo lurking around… are there any vacant buildings near the place where the bodies were found?”

“The _bodies_?!” Mrs Rakinski repeated, “Do you mean my children?! My DEAD CHILDREN?!”

She suddenly started to cry. Dean looked at her helplessly. He had never been particularly good with interviewing people. He seemed to lack sensitivity. Like now. That’s why he let Sam do the talking mostly. He felt sorry for the poor woman, though.

Mr Rakinski had an arm around his sobbing wife who rocked back and forth.

“Ma’am, do you have any idea what’s it’s like to lose your kids?!” he asked sharply.

There was a moment of silence until Dean replied. His voice was quiet.

“Yes, I do.”

Mr Rakinski looked at him sternly, as if to see whether he was saying the truth. Apparently he could see the glimmering in Dean’s eyes. A small tear was gathering in the corner of his eye and he hastily rubbed it away.

“What happened?” the husband asked cautiously.

Dean shot a quick look to Sam.

“I had a daughter. Emma. She was very young when… a hunter shot her.”

“That’s terrible,” Mr Rakinski said.

“Well, it wasn’t his fault, was it? He thought she was an animal. Probably dangerous.”

Sam was looking down on his feet unable to meet Dean’s eyes.

“I’m sorry I upset you, Mrs Rakinski,” Dean said, “We will go now.”

 

* * *

 

As soon as they had left the porch, Sam touched his shoulder.

“Dean, I…”

“ _I don’t wanna talk about it_ ,” he said angrily and brushed his hand off.

“We’ve never…”

“I SAID, I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!” Dean shouted.

He grabbed Castiel’s sleeve and pulled him with him, across the street toward the park. Sam sighed and got to the car. He would drive to the other boy’s parents.

When they had reached the first park bench, Dean sat down. Ducks were swimming around in a little pond and not far away children were playing on a playground. It was not too different from the place where they had first talked and Cas had confessed his doubts. Now however Cas was quiet. Dean had his face buried in his hands. It was hot and although he did not utter a sound, tears were streaming down his cheeks; he could feel their salty taste on his lips.

He had tried so hard to forget, but from time to time Emma’s young face crept into his dreams. _I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you!_ she shouted at him. Where was she now? Purgatory?

Why was he always losing family?! Mom, Dad, Adam, Bobby, Lisa and Ben, Emma?! He was cursed. He had always been. And yet, _he_ was still alive, an angel sitting by his side. Wasn’t it ironic?

Cas had placed a hand on Dean’s back. It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot to Dean. Castiel, who’s social skills were limited to a minimum, was trying to comfort him, in a very human way, which he had, no doubt, picked up from watching his father’s creation for such a long time.

“It’s not your fault, Dean,” Cas said, responding to Dean’s thoughts. “None of it is. We are only tiny players in a huge cosmos that not even God can understand in its entirety.”

“Cas, that’s blasphemy,” Dean managed to joke.

He wiped his face and looked over at his friend.

“Well, I learnt from the best…”

* * *

 

They met up at the motel, Dean abashed because of his little break-down. Sam decided not to comment on it, but instead filled them in on the results of his investigation.

“I’ve been talking to the Lynns. Not much information on their side. Apparently David and Pat were best friends since kindergarten. Parents say he had no enemies… yada, yada.”

“Nothing new, then?”

“Well, I also talked to the missing kid’s mom.”

“And?”

 “The mother is confident that her son ran away from home. Mrs Morland says her son was in therapy for violent behavior and that he didn’t come home from a therapy session. And now get _this_ : when they were nine, Pat and David nearly _drowned_ Morland. It was on a school trip. There were no consequences back then because they were still so young. Also, Louis got an army knife that might’ve been the weapon used.”

Dean brushed his hair out of his face.

“So you’re saying Morland is our vamp?”

“Could be,” Sam said.

“Any idea where he could be?”

“Well, his mom gave me the address of his father who left them when junior was three. He lives in Salt Lake City.”

“Alright, let’s go. It’s the only lead we have, right?”

 

So they changed (that is to say the brothers did) and packed their stuff: dead man’s blood and machetes – with Cas at hand that probably wasn’t necessary, but they wanted to be prepared for every possible outcome. This time they accepted when Cas offered them a _lift_.

With their weapons stuffed in Dean’s duffel bag they were zapped on a street that was, despite the late hour, still crowded. They stood in front of a small apartment building, with the paint coming off the dirty front.

“Nice,” Dean commented.

Dean found the name Morland and rang.

“Hello?” a male voice said through the speaker.

“FBI,” Cas said, “We are here to talk about your son.”

Dean looked surprised at him. That was actually professional….

“Come in,” Mr Morland said, letting them in.

They walked up the dark stairs up toward the second story. Sam was taking the lead, and Dean and Cas filed behind him.

“How was I?” Castiel asked in a hushed voice.

“Great, Cas,” Dean replied, unable to suppress a smile.

“Hey, guys, we’re on a hunt. You can save your… _flirting_ for later,” Sam whispered.

“Bitch,” Dean said, tremendously happy that he hadn’t told his brother about the _kiss_.

“Jerk.”

 

They knocked on the door of apartment number 2c. The door was opened a little. A guy with ragged black hair and a heavy scruff peaked through the gap.

“You don’t look like feds.”

“We’re undercover,” Dean said quickly and ushered Sam and Cas to show their badges.

Finally, he let them in. They stepped into a small hall that led directly into a living room which desperately needed to be tidied up. A stack of empty liquor bottles stood on the couch table. He had been drinking – Dean sensed the familiar smell of alcohol on him.

“Are there any news on Louis? Have you found ‘im?” he asked.

“No, sir, not yet,” Sam said. “I’m afraid that Louis is now a suspect on the triple murder case.”

“What?” he said slowly.

“Three teenagers from Louis’ school have been killed,” Dean explained.

“I know, Carol told me on the phone… So you think it’s him?”

Sam gave him a sad smile. Mr Morland ran his hand through his hair, considering the idea.

“You got any evidence?” he asked.

“His fingerprints were found on the bodies,” Sam lied without hesitation.

Mr Morland sat down on the couch.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“We think he might come here,” Sam said.

“That’s not likely,” said Mr Morland.

Dean gave the place a quick once over. There were two doors, probably leading to a bathroom and a bedroom, and a small window in the living room slash kitchenette.

“It’s all my fault,” Mr Morland muttered under his breath.

“So, what, we wait till Edward bobs up? _If_ he bobs up?” Dean asked quietly.

“You got a better plan?” Sam wanted to know.

“I got no plan at all. This is all leading nowhere!”

“You suggested we go here!” Sam said replied hotly.

Mr Morland didn’t even notice their argument. He had opened a fresh bottle of liquor and took a generous sip.

“You know, I was never there for him. I _know_ that. ‘S all my fault.”

“Why should he even come here?” Dean asked. “I mean, look at him. Not exactly the person you go to for help.”

“Dean, we should just -”

But Dean didn’t learn what they should, because Cas was interrupting them.

“ _Boys_ ,” he said urgently, tugging at Dean’s sleeve to draw his attention away from his brother.

“They’re here.”

“What?” the Winchesters asked in unison. “Who?”

“Two vampires, bedroom window. I’ll take Morland somewhere safe.”

Cas zapped in front of the crouching man on the couch, touched his forehead and off they were. Dean dropped his bag, and hurried to get their blades out. He quickly passed one to Sam. They could hear some noise, as if the bedroom window was opened. Steps. There was no time for dead man’s blood.

“Maybe he’s not here,” a young voice said.

“Bullshit, I could smell ’im…” the voice of a man replied, rough and slurred, “… and I also smell…”

The bedroom door was kicked down, and a man emerged from it. He was wearing ragged clothes, an old-fashioned hat and a mad grin, exposing a set of teeth as spikey as needles.

“Hunters,” he growled and jumped at them.

From there on there was chaos. The vamp hit Sam hard in the face. Then he threw himself on Dean with inhuman strength. He fell down on floor, the vamp all over him, his lined face dirty with old traces of blood around his lips. He was a vampire of the old school – a nomad, a ruthless killer, having become less human over the years.

“Hello, pretty,” he hissed in Dean’s ear while pressing a strong hand over his mouth and nose. Dean struggled to get him off. His machete had fallen from his hand, it was lying out of reach. In the corner of his eye, he saw that a second figure had appeared. Louis.

So there had been two vamps all along. Louis had stabbed the kids and the vampire had been his accomplice.

The boy was not an experienced fighter that was apparent. His movements were uncoordinated and ineffective. Still, they were fast. Fast and wild and unpredictable. He was clutching his Swiss army knife, and pushed it forward with immense speed. Sam was completely occupied trying to avoid the blade.

“LOUIS, YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS!” he shouted over the fighting, “YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE A KILLER! JUST BECAUSE HE TURNED YOU -”

“I didn’t kill anyone because I was turned,” Louis replied oddly calm. “I killed because I wanted to. I killed them because they wanted me dead. I met Fred. He was hunting. I was hunting. We joined forces. But this is _me_. I came here to kill the useless prick that is my father and you had the misfortune to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, so I’m gonna kill _you_.”

He could hear the pocket knife clatter on the floor. The talking had distracted Louis and Sam had been able to disarm him. Louis hissed, baring his horrible teeth.

Dean could feel Fred’s sharp teeth on the skin of his neck; he could feel him inhale the scent of him. He was playing. Dean was tearing at his clothes, he was kicking and hitting and struggling.

He needed oxygen. His vision turned black.

And in the darkness, _I’m gonna die_ , there was one word, _shit, I’m gonna die_ , a syllable, _please GOD OR SHIT I don’t wanna die,_ a syllable that was hope. _CAS!_

There was an outcry of surprise and anger, a flash of light and then there was air, another flash of light, the thud of a body hitting the floor and a sigh.

“Dean?!”

A worried voice.

“Hey, Dean!”

Another worried voice and a gentle pat on the cheek by an enormous hand. He inhaled sharply, his lungs filling with the air that he craved for so painfully. Slowly his companions came into view again. There was Cas, kneeling beside him, worry displayed in his eyes.

“Cas,” Dean croaked.

“I’m so sorry, Dean, I should have been there earlier. The place I intended to bring Morland was not safe, so I -”

“Sshh…” Dean made, “Thank you for saving us.”


	5. E is for envious angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas go out. It doesn't go so well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, everyone, brace yourselves, this chapter has some Dean/OFC but it's cute lesbian sex (spoilers!) so it's all great, you know. Also Castiel is super jealous and Dean really oblivious and a Star Wars dork so you don't wanna miss it.

While the Winchesters lay passed out on their motel beds, Castiel sat on a chair beside Dean’s bed. It was a quiet night and nothing was heard apart from the brothers’ steady breathing. _I was nearly too late_ , Castiel thought. _One more minute and he’d be dead_. It was not the first time that he had been close to losing Dean. Dean had died more often than any other human being but never had it felt like this. He wasn’t quite sure why he felt this panicky. Dean was safe now and he would make sure that he would be in the future.

 

* * *

 

They drove back to Kansas, with Dean driving much too fast, his eyes fixed on the road. He didn’t dare looking at Cas. The relief and gratefulness that he had been filled with had been replaced by shame and embarrassment. He hadn’t been able to fight off _one_ vamp. He’d been a weak-ass damsel in distress just the way Sam had predicted.

Sam was not speaking about it, knowing only too well that Dean felt bad. As soon as they were home, Sam buried himself in work, reorganizing the file storage room. Dean felt a bit stressed. It was like he had to entertain the angel.

After one and a half week of staying mostly at the Bunker – for everyone had silently agreed that Dean was not fit for another case - Dean needed to go out. He needed fresh air and the company of people who didn’t know how much of a failure he was. It was already quite late in the evening when he decided to go.

 

* * *

 

There was a club not far from the Bunker. He had been there a couple times. He wasn’t much one for dancing, but the drinks were cheap and it was quite easy to chat up a lonely girl on the counter. He wanted to do just that. He needed a distraction from all this crap.

He put on a tank top, wondering whether it looked good on him. He was sporting quite a bit of armpit hairs. He’d never cared about that before. But as a girl – it looked _odd_. It was like he’d been trained into thinking that women were these hairless goddesses. The reality was quite different, he was aware of that. Maybe he should shave.

He did, awkwardly so.

When he was reasonably satisfied with the result, tied his scalp hair to a ponytail. He liked how his jawline looked like when he did that. He had bought some lipstick. He was curious how it would look and feel like. Applying it was not as easy as he had thought, though. There was some of the red color smeared in the corners of his mouth, but he managed to fix that. It looked surprisingly good actually. His features seemed sharper.

He winked at his reflection.

“Hey, lookin’ good over there,” he said to himself.

“Who are you talking to?” Cas asked.

The angel had appeared out of thin air, right behind him. Dean could see his curious expression in the mirror.

“Jesus, Cas, how many times did I tell you not to do that?!”

“My apologies,” Cas said good-naturedly. “What are you doing?” he added.

 

* * *

 

He told Cas he was going out and Cas immediately offered to come with him.

He was not in the mood to play babysitter for Cas, but the angel insisted. Dean finally gave in, on one condition.

“You are not going to wear that trench coat of yours to the club.”

Castiel gave him an irritated look, but he didn’t question it. With a snap of his fingers the trench coat was gone.

“Lose the jacket and tie too or else people will think you’re trying to sell them an insurance,” Dean said and Cas obeyed.

“Are you pleased now?” Cas asked.

Heck, yes. Without the formal clothing Cas looked almost like a regular guy. Because of his ill-fitting coat and suit he had always looked rather small and wispy, despite him being nearly six feet tall. Now however, Dean realized that Cas was in fact well built. Not as bulky as Sam was and he had been, but still. There was most definitely more muscle mass on him than he had thought.

His white shirt was a nice contrast to his dark brown hair that was a mess, as always.

So Dean nodded, fetching the car keys. Cas followed him downstairs. They came across Sam, who had made himself a cup of coffee before he resumed his work.

“Where are you going this late?” he asked curiously, blocking the way.

“Out,” Dean replied simply.

“Hey, wait, is that lipstick?” Sam asked. “Aw, you dressed up! How _cute_!” he teased.

“Shut up.”

“And Cas, too. Nice seeing you without that coat for a chance. Suits you.”

“Is that flattery?” the angel asked sounding unsure.

“It’s a compliment,” Sam said, shrugging.

He made way for them and Dean thought they had overcome Sam’s inquisition, when his brother called after them: “Have fun on your date…!”

 

* * *

 

On the car ride Dean shot Cas sideway glances. He thought about Sam’s words.

Pleasant anticipation shone in the angel’s eyes, something close to a smile lingering on his lips. Yes, Sam was right, Cas was a handsome fellow. He looked normal and harmless at the moment, but when he demonstrated his full power, wings and all, Dean had to admit, he thought that Cas was pretty hot, too. Heat rose to his cheeks, as he realized those sentiments and he quickly focused on the road again.

 

* * *

 

“What d’you want to drink?” Dean asked.

“Dean, you know that I don’t need to hydrate.”

“That’s not what you do it for… you do it to get drunk.”

“Not all the beverages in here combined could have such an effect,” Castiel stated simply.

He might look totally casual, but there was still a stick up his ass. Dean shrugged and ordered himself a whiskey. He had thought he and Cas would have a drink together, like _normal_ friends would do, but apparently Cas had decided to play celestial being tonight. So Dean decided he would focus on his human instincts, too, and try to get laid.

He led his eyes wander through the club’s interior. There was a huge dance floor, surrounded by little tables and chairs, primarily occupied by groups of friends who spent the night together, and there was the long bar, where Dean and Cas sat. He usually found his sex partners at the bar. When he was lucky, the girls would come to him, taking pity on that lonely, sulking but actually very handsome guy. Sometimes he had to dance before they got off together. But usually a talk, his charm and a couple of drinks were enough. There was a motel not far away that they could go to if the girl was not living nearby.

Today however, he was not lucky – none of the girls were noticing him.

He had thought that nothing would’ve changed and he now realized how naïve he had been. He was a woman now – but he was still attracted to girls which _technically_ made him a lesbian. _Oh my God, I’m GAY!_ Dean thought. _I guess that means I’ve come to the wrong club._ There _was_ a gay bar in town; he’d driven past it a couple times.

He let his eyes wander. How was he to recognize whether a woman might be interested in him? It was not as if queer people ran around wearing a rainbow flag tucked to their chest (well, at least not all of them).

No men were hitting on him either. He felt a little relieved, but somehow a bit disappointed too. Was he that unattractive? Maybe they were just sitting in a unfortunate spot; a plant was hiding them from view.

Well, that guy over there had been looking toward him a couple of times. He stood there, all alone, with a beer in his hand. He could be interested, Dean thought. Why was he not coming over? He didn’t look exactly shy. He was standing there openly, with a proud stance and a t-shirt having _get it while you can_ printed on front.

It hit Dean after quite a while. He had been watching a man and woman who sat together on a table, and wondered whether they were together. He thought they did, they were deeply engaged in conversation, no-one else was with them… The way she looked at him, her gaze always upon him… Cas was doing the same. The club seemed to be of no interest to him. He hadn’t talked with anyone else, he hadn’t danced, he hadn’t even looked at the girls.

Of course everyone thought they were together, when they were sitting together all the time!

Men were not hitting on him because they thought he was there with his boyfriend and girls were not hitting on him because they thought he was straight!

“I’m never gonna get laid,” Dean muttered bitterly under his breath.

Castiel interrupted his ramblings about Enochian. He had been talking about that a lot lately, trying to teach Dean. He wondered why he even bothered. Cas knew Dean was not exactly fond of foreign languages. He had worked hard on his Latin, too hard for his taste.

So if he wanted to get laid tonight, he had to ditch Cas. Maybe he could provide his friend with some other entertainment. There was a woman sitting a few stools away from them. Dean had caught her glancing at Cas with an appreciating look a few times.

Dean gave Cas a nudge.

“See that lady over there?” he said, discretely nodding in her direction.

“You mean that brunette female five chairs away from us?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah, her. I think she digs you.”

Castiel looked straight at him and didn’t say a word. Whether it was because of confusion or something else, Dean could not tell.

“Come on, go over there and talk to her!”

“Why would I do that?” Castiel asked, slightly alarmed.

Dean chuckled. The whole scenario reminded Dean of their little trip to the brothel. Yeah, the angel’s social skills were indeed rusty.

“To have a little _fun_ …” he hinted.

“I _do_ have fun, Dean,” Castiel said earnestly, “You know that I enjoy every second we spend together.”

Only Castiel could say something like that and mean it in a platonic way. No wonder people thought they were together when he pulled that kind of shit out of his ass.

 “Me too, Cas,” he sighed, “But this is about something different, you know. From time to time I just need to have some time on my own… hook up and stuff …”

“To do what?”

“Oh, Christ, Cas – even Mary wasn’t as big a virgin as you are!”

Cas glared at him.

“So, what?!” Cas rumbled finally. Maybe mentioning the Mother of God hadn’t been such a good idea. Cas got up. He was taller than Dean sitting in his high chair. He wasn’t relaxed anymore. He looked like the powerful being he was. Dean could see the angelic sparkle in his blue eyes. It was terrifying because this time, Cas’ anger was directed at him.

“I thought _we_ were spending some time together with conversation and intoxication on your side. This is why I followed you to this venue! But the only thing you had in mind when you came here, you son of a bat, was intercourse! And I was fatuitous enough to follow you! The other angels were right about you, Dean Winchester. You are selfish and lecherous!”

He turned on his turned on his heels in a dramatic way, storming outside.

 “Cas!” Dean called after him.

Dean looked blankly toward the exit, where the angel had left. Great. He had upset Cas. He was not sure how, but he had. He ordered another glass of whiskey. He’d fucked up, as usual.

 

* * *

 

“Are you alright?” a voice said close to him.

He looked up to see the woman who had started all this sit down next to him. Dean glared at her.

“Did you have a fight?” she asked, sympathy in her voice.

“No, he’s just being weird as always,” Dean with a sigh.

 “Your boyfriend?” she asked, smilingly.

“No, we’re just friends,” Dean answered.

“Good.”

Dean looked at her. Was she really that much into Cas? Well, good luck with that. There was a smirk on her lips. It was a very attractive smirk, Dean thought. She had a round face, beautifully curved lips and soft, dark eyes that were outlined with kohl. Long curly hair framed her face, the color of dark chocolate. She seemed to be a bit younger than Dean, maybe in her mid-twenties. She wore a short dark green dress that showed off her curvy ass quite perfectly.

“I suppose I could give him your number,” Dean said, “I’m just not sure if he would know what to do with it.”

“No need for that,” she said, and sucked on her straw.

She was drinking a mojito. So not that into him, then?

“I’m Leah,” she introduced herself.

“Uh, Leia,” Dean replied, blurting out the first name that came to his mind.

_Seriously, Dean? She says Leah and you reply with Leia?!_

“Like the princess?” she asked.

“Yeah… my parents had a thing for _Star Wars_ , you see. Real seventies kid.”

“Well, I think the name suits you. It probably sounds cheesy, but you really have the eyes of a princess…”

“You think?” Dean replied, unsure where this was heading to.

“Yeah, you _totally_ look like a princess,” she affirmed. “So, do you _have_ a boyfriend?”

“No,” Dean said, a little irritated at the question.

Was it customary for women to talk about their relationships upon first meeting?

“Me neither,” she said, not sounding sad about it. “You know, I like being single, going…”

She leaned closer to Dean and even in the sticky atmosphere of the club he could smell her sweet smell.

“… and meet cuties like you.”

Dean’s heart began to beat faster. Did he interpret the signals right, or was he just seeing what he wanted to see? He looked at her in anticipation, forgetting to breathe. She was quite close; he could have counted her eye-lashes if he wanted to. He leaned closer as well, he was going to risk it; he would kiss her. What could go wrong? She might turn away, he might even get a slap in the face, but that wasn’t too bad. Before he could advance with his plan however, Leah pulled away.

“I really need some fresh air, what about you?” she asked.

Dean nodded numbly.

They left the bar. They had to cross the dance floor to get to the exit. People were barring the way with their moving bodies and Dean was afraid to lose Leah in the crowd. She led the way and he quickly grabbed her hand.

 

* * *

 

The night air was chill on their faces, it smelled fresh. They leaned on the club’s façade, simply breathing. He was still holding Leah’s hand. She didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary – she looked down fondly on their intertwined fingers. Her eyes traveled upwards, to look into Dean’s face, her eyes boring into him. Her second hand was tentatively wandering up his arm, as if she was not sure whether he would like it. He knew it would happen before it did: Leah leaned forward and kissed him.

A sweet kiss quickly turned into a heated one and Dean was pressed against the wall, while Leah tongued him, stumbling on her black high heels.

They paused to breathe, a triumphant grin on Leah’s face.

“So, what do you say, Your Highness, should we retreat to my home planet?”

“Hell, yeah.”

Leah’s apartment was not far away. They had gone there quickly, eager to resume their frantic kissing. As soon as they were inside, their lips were locked again. Leah led them to the bedroom, without letting go of Dean.

In there, Dean was leaning against the uneven metal door. Leah was planting hot kisses on Dean’s décolleté. She kissed his neck, her round breasts pressed to his body, while her hands caressed his sides. He could feel the heat return to his cheeks and blood flowing to his lower abdomen. As if Leah had sensed it, she came even closer, one of her legs sliding between his. Instinctively he thrust a little forward. He knew that if he still had a penis now, it would be hard as rock.

“Clothes off, Your Majesty,” Leah said, her smirk returning.

Dean obeyed, curious what would happen next. He felt a little self-conscious, as he stripped, feeling Leah’s eyes on him.

“You’ve got a tattoo,” she stated, “Hot.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said, feeling encouraged.

Leah laughed. She turned around.

“Can you help me with the zipper?” she asked.

Dean happily did so. He kissed her neck, while pulling it down. Leah let the dress glide down to the floor, revealing beautiful dark red underwear. She kicked off her shoes in a playful manner.

Dean set to work on her bra, while she slid off her panties.

There they were, stark naked and aroused. Leah gently pushed him down the bed. She laid down next to him, her fingers playing with his hair. She looked beautiful. She had tan skin, her breasts soft under Dean’s touch. Dean looked down to her lady parts. She had shaved or waxed or whatever women did to get rid of pubes. Dean wondered whether Leah minded that he hadn’t.

“So, what do you like, Princess?” Leah asked.

“I… I don’t know…”

It was absurd, he hadn’t really thought about this. What could they do? Was she going to lick him, like the girls in the pay-per-view? Or use a dildo? Or fingering? He had tried it in a quiet moment, he hadn’t liked it. In fact, he hadn’t got off once since he turned female. He didn’t have much of a chance to do it yet, but he had to admit, it wasn’t that easy.

“Have you ever been with a woman before?” she asked cautiously.

“Uh… not like _this_ ,” Dean said.

He would’ve liked to explain it, but how could he without sounding like a complete nut job?

“That’s alright. It’s not the first time _I’m_ someone’s first. It’s okay. What do you enjoy with a man?”

“I’m not sure…” Dean said awkwardly.

So much for his sexual experience he prided himself with. He sounded like an utter virgin. It was like he had turned into Cas!

“Alright, just relax,” Leah said, “We’re going to figure it out together.”

 She continued kissing Dean, starting with the mouth, going down to the collarbone; she kissed his nipples, but very gently and then went on further down. All the time she was caressing Dean’s hip and thighs. It felt like his vagina was glowing from the inside. He wanted her to do something about it.

Leah got a glove from the bedside table and some lubricant. She made a show out of putting the glove on and added some lube. Then she went on kissing him again. Dean closed his eyes, swimming in the feeling of her soft lips on his. Her fingers trailed down his vulva and then into his vagina. She touched a sensitive spot and Dean sighed. Her fingers glided over the lips and Dean realized he was wet.

Leah was exploring and circling and gliding and Dean sighed and panted. Leah was straddling over one of his legs, she was slowly thrusting, getting off from the friction all while working Dean. It didn’t take long till Dean was close. He could feel it. Like electricity running through his body. He dug his fingers into the sheets, moving with Leah, moving faster and there it was. He felt so sensitive to Leah’s touch. Higher and higher, closer and closer. Then he was overcome by orgasm. He moaned and then he could feel that Leah climaxed too, because shortly afterward, she ceased her thrusts.

She clung to him and there they lay for a while, lost in post-coital bliss.

 

“That, Leah, was awesome,” Dean said after a while.

“You think so?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

 

* * *

 

Dean woke up at around half past four in the morning and quietly left for the bathroom. Peeing was still weird for him. It was so annoying to have to sit down every time and it could be quite disgusting if you had to do it on a gas station or in a greasy junk food joint.

When he came back, Leah was awake too. She enclosed him in her arms and they made out again.

 

 _Well, I could get used to_ that, Dean thought after the second orgasm he had had that night.

Leah had gone back to sleep again. He could hear her soft breathing next to him. He couldn’t sleep anymore, however. He recalled the events of the night. Castiel changing just to please him, Sam calling it a date… Maybe Cas had thought it _was_ a date, after all. That could be why he got so upset when Dean wanted to leave him alone. Could Cas actually think that they were having a date? _I mean come on. Cas knows I’m not into men! Or manly angel friends,_ Dean thought.

No, that couldn’t be it. He would wait until tomorrow and apologize.


	6. F is for these feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has an encounter with a cupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> went a little over the top with the metaphores here but idk who cares METAPHORES FOR THE WIN

The storm that made the conifers bow in the wind and the water splash on the stony beach was nothing against the storm that raged inside Castiel. As soon as he had been out of sight, he had zapped somewhere – anywhere, just away from Dean.

He hadn’t thought where he was going. He hadn’t cared. The smell of the fresh night air and the constellation of the hundreds of stars in the black sky above him told him that he was in Scotland again, on the exact spot he had been, where he had been when he flew off to see Dean at that _Biggerson’s_. He had been missing Dean that time. Somehow he had been acheing to go back, to see Dean again after their short time being separated. It was odd, but he figured that they were connected – saving Dean had been his mission. The last mission from God, really, and in that way, Dean was a link to his Father. But it was more than that. Being with the Winchesters had shown him _why_ humanity had to be protected. Now he could understand why his Father’s love was so strong, that he would even banish his favorite son from Heaven. Yes, he could see it.

He was on the same spot, but he found himself in the exact opposite position. Last time he had wanted to see Dean – now all he wanted was to be as far away from Dean as he could. The thought scared him.

He felt hurt, so vulnerable, like a kicked dog. There was ice and fire in him and he wondered how it could possibly be, because after all, this was just his vessel, and it wasn’t supposed to respond to his sentiments.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t realize that he was not alone, until a voice spoke to him. The voice was young and soft; it was not English, but Enochian.

“What is the matter, brother?” it said.

Castiel turned around to see a little girl sitting on a bowlder, wearing a white dress and Wellington boots. The dress’ fabric shone in the silver moonlight. Behind the innocent façade, Castiel could feel a mighty presence that made his true vessel tickle.

“You are a cupid,” he stated.

The girl nodded, but it was not a girl anymore – he could see the cupid’s true form now, glowing, vibrating, its four faces turned toward him, the wings folded in the back. He wondered why he hadn’t seen it from the beginning.

“And you are a soldier,” the cupid said.

The cupid stood up and walked toward him, hugging him at waist level. There was something soothing about the touch. Cupids, although of celestial origin, belonged to Earth – in a way, just like him. The cupid let go of him and it felt like it had taken something from him - knowledge. Touching a cupid meant giving them access to one’s feelings. Usually, angels had nothing to fear, for they were driven by purpose, not emotions. But Castiel _had_ feelings and the cupid sensed it, too.

“You… those _sentiments_ in you, brother” the cupid looked up to him in wonder, “they are… almost human.”

Was that what it was like to be human? Confused? Pained? How did humans cope?

“It is because of Dean Winchester,” the cupid stated knowingly. “You feel strongly for him.”

There was no way Castiel could deny it. It was true, he felt like this because of Dean, because of what had happened earlier. He just didn’t understand it. He felt betrayed but Dean hadn’t betrayed him. He hadn’t attempted to kill him, nor had he conspired with an enemy. He didn’t understand it.

The cupid looked at him, a smirk on its vessel’s face. It seemed almost smug and Cas was sure that it understood a lot better what was going on in him. It was crazy. Cupids were not exactly the most powerful kind of angels. And yet there the cupid was, talking as if it knew everything about Cas.

“How do you know all this?” he asked.

“I’m a cupid. We can sense emotions. That is our job,” the cupid replied, “but I also know that you are Castiel, the angel who went to Hell and returned triumphantly.”

“I did it to protect humanity,” he said.

“Yes. But you rebelled only for _one_ human being. The Winchester boy.”

Castiel stared at the cupid. Yes, he had rebelled, because of Dean, _for_ Dean. But Dean was not any human. It was him that had him falling in love with humanity, had him understand why it needed protection. He was _the_ human; he stood out, like a diamond in a pile of coal.

“Oh, I know. I was part of the team who made his existence possible,” the cupid said with a chuckle.

“What?” Castiel asked, confused.

“I was part of the team of cupids that fixed up Mary Campbell and John Winchester,” the cupid explained, “That was a hard piece of work. But the result… seems like it was worth it.”

“Yes,” Castiel heard himself reply.

He looked at the waves, so chaotic, yet so beautiful. It was him who had caused the storm, his raging emotions mirrored by nature, just like Dean had caused the storm inside him. He stepped closer at the water, as if he tried to find an explanation about his emotions in the unpredictable patterns of the waves.

 

* * *

 

“So, what are you going to do about it?” the cupid asked.

It had followed him to the shore and was now wading into the water, standing between Cas and the waves.

“Do about it?” Castiel repeated, not understanding.

The other angel sighed.

“Okay, Castiel. Short version. You are in love. It’s uncommon, but not unheard of. There is a reason why there are Nephilim. You have become infatuated with your mission: Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, the Diamond. All of this is a side effect. What you’re feeling is a classical _chagrin d’amour_. You feel jealousy, because he has chosen to be intimate with a stranger, rather than with you…”

The words sounded strange but he knew them to be true. He hadn’t been able to put it into words. Even now he was unable to speak, as if his tongue had been glued into place. The cupid continued.

“You believe that everything you feel is one-sided. You’ve never realized how special you are to him, have you? Dean Winchester never had a best friend. He only ever had a brother. You are family to him. You should know what that means. And consider this: all this is new territory for his as well. Give him time. You are a miracle to him, Castiel. Dean Winchester didn’t believe in angels and he didn’t believe in love. But you proved him wrong with the former. You can prove him wrong with the latter.”

The storm was getting wilder anew, the branches of the conifers creaking and the water wetting the seam of the girl’s dress.

 _How am I supposed to do that?_ Castiel thought desperately.

“You are not human,” the cupid said, “There’s nothing I can do for you. Ironically, you have to try your best and _be_ human.”


	7. G is for the gay talk

It was familiar. Too familiar, actually. He carefully got up, trying not to wake her up, quietly grabbed his clothes, double-checked for phone and keys, got dressed, sneaked out... _Adiós._

It was early. The sun had just risen and only few people were out on the streets. It was chill. The smell of fall was in the air, and he crossed his bare arms under his breasts hoping to keep them warm this way.

There was a businessman crossing the road, a coffee in one hand, a cell phone in the other. He was wearing a tan trench coat, just like Cas. _Cas_. Dean sighed.

As soon as he was sitting in the Impala, he turned up the heating. The soft rattling sound of the Legos he had crammed in there all those years ago made him smile. Yes, this was home. The Impala, Sam and Cas. They were fixed points in his life, their familiarity comforting. During the last couple days Cas had been acting a bit different, however. It was not only his recent pissed-off-ness. It was almost as if he was trying to get to know Dean better. He listened patiently when Dean explained him his favorite bands, or the modifications on his car. Before their relationship had been about hunting and fighting together, trying to clean up the big ol’ mess that was this world. But now they were killing time instead of monsters. One was a different person lying on the couch without a gun in one’s belt or a machete in one’s hand. It was nice to have someone to be open with, but on the downside, Cas seemed to think that being friends meant hanging out together all the time. He was a bit clingy.

 

* * *

 

Sam was not yet up when Dean arrived at the Bunker. He sneaked up to his room, stripped off his clothes and laid down on his bed again. It felt surprisingly relaxing to not wear a bra. He had gotten used to the feeling of his boobs being held in place – at least most of the time – but it was always nice to take it off. He covered himself with a soft blanket and switched off the lights. He blindly grabbed his old Walkman from the bedside table, plugged the earphones in. The music started mid-song.

 

_I believe in miracles_

_Since you came along, you sexy thing_

That song was not exactly one of his favorites, but he listened to it anyway. It was on one of the really old tapes that just wouldn’t break. _Best of ’75_ it said on the case in John’s capital letter handwriting. Dean kept a whole stack of these in his room, much to Sam’s amusement. He couldn’t bring himself to throw them away. The tapes had belonged to John and once upon a time they had been sitting in a shelf in their old house in Lawrence. Maybe Mary had picked one up, looking for a particular track. Maybe they had even been listening to this song all together once, with Dean sitting on Mary’s lap, bouncing excitedly to the tune. He couldn’t remember.

 

_How did you know I needed you so badly?_

_How did you know I’d give my heart gladly?_

_Yesterday, I was one of the lonely people,_

_Now you’re lying close to me, making love to me_

Most of the tapes contained rock music. It had been John’s favorite genre and Dean had grown up listening to it. The music evoked memories, not all of them pleasant. But he could relate to the songs. Songs about the road, the ever-changing life of restless men. Songs about yearning and being homesick for a place that didn’t exist. Sure, love was also a reoccurring theme, but seldom in its romantic aspect. He liked that. Romance was strange to him. During his adulthood, he had only once felt romantically attracted to someone: Lisa. That feeling had never been consistent, however. It had constantly been challenged by his itch to just be on the move. _Lord, I was born a rambling man._ Yeah, this was Dean.

The song he was just listening to was describing a different kind of relationship. Sweet love, marvel in the face of the lover and, most of all, need. He had never needed someone so badly. Yes, he was lonely. He hated to admit it, but it was true. No one was making _love_ to him. There was only the dull feeling that always settled in one’s heart when one had to close the door, knowing that one would never see them again.

The chorus started afresh. They sang about miracles. What did they know about miracles? Dean had seen so many miracles that for him they were none anymore. He’d encountered fairies and djinns and ghosts – there was Heaven and there was Hell. Everything was possible. He had been to hell. He had come back. That had been a miracle. That, despite of his doubts, there was something _good_ in this world. Castiel had saved him. He had brought him back to life. He had been dead inside, like a field after harvest with winter drawing near, but Cas had shown him that deep down, there were the seeds to new life. And whenever the angel was close, he could feel them growing.

 

_Where did you come from, angel?_

_How did you know I’d be the one?_

_Did you know, you’re everything I prayed for?_

_Did you know, every night and day for?_

_Every day, needing love as satisfaction_

_Now you’re lying close to me, making love to me_

 

He switched off the Walkman.

“Cas?” he whispered into the darkness.

His voice sounded hoarse.

“Cas, you hear me?”

No response. He rolled over and pressed his face into the pillows.

* * *

 

He found Sam sitting in the library, surfing the web. When he saw Dean, he closed his laptop.

“You’re awake,” he stated.

“Yeah.”

“It’s 4pm, man,” Sam said, “What the fuck did you do last night to knock you out like this? I was just going to check on you, thought the spell might have kicked in again…”

“Well, if you really want to know what I did last night…” Dean said, sipping at his coffee, “I had some really great sex.”

Sam’s reaction was odd. He stared at Dean, then he opened his mouth. It took some time until he finally said something.

“Uh, okay. Yeah, okay. Guess that was bound to happen sooner or later…” he stammered.

Dean stared back at him. So, he had had sex. That was not exactly something new. Sam had said it himself; he knew more about Dean’s sex life than he appreciated. And what did he mean with that, _it was bound to happen_?

“Uh, what?”

“Hey, it’s fine. Believe me, I’m cool with it. Not that you need my approval or anything, but I mean I support you and stuff. I was just not expecting you to be so frank about it, that’s all. I’m glad you’ve overcome your internal struggle and that you finally found the courage to act on your feelings.”

Dean was even more confused. He had no idea what his brother was talking about.

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

“You and Cas?” Sam said, looking at Dean expectantly.

“What?”

“I’m cool with the two of you being together – or having sex, or whatever.”

“ _I was not having sex with Cas!_ ” Dean said taken aback, “What makes you think that?”

“Um, you went out together, and I didn’t see you come back and… you obviously like Cas a lot and well, I guess I just jumped to conclusions…”

Dean couldn’t believe his ears. Did Sam seriously think that he would fuck Cas?

“Dude, I’m straight,” Dean clarified.

“Yeah, if that makes you sleep at night…” Sam muttered, before clearing his throat. “So, where is Cas then, if he’s not in your bed?”

“I’ve no idea,” Dean said, hoping to sound as if he didn’t care.

“But you left together, didn’t you?”

“Well…” Dean started.

Sam had put on his standard bitchface, as if he knew that Dean had fucked up. _Again_.

“There was a misunderstanding, he got pissed and left. You satisfied now?”

 

* * *

 

“I’m going to give Baby a wash,” Dean announced.

“Really?” Sam asked in disbelief.

He had been doing push-ups in his room, while listening to some gruesome chick music.

“Yeah, really,” Dean said.

What else was he supposed to do? He was bored to death. He had taken a shower, reorganized his cassette tapes ( _Best of ’75_ was now all the way in the back) and polished the handcuffs in their dungeon. Cas was not around to annoy him with lectures about Enochian.

He fished the keys from the cupboard in Sam’s room and left for the garage.

He drove to a gas station and bought cleaning supplies. He washed his beloved Impala very seldom. In fact, she had probably been rebuilt more often than that. Well, she could need a wash that was beyond doubt. A thin layer of dust covered the black finish and specks of dirt were around the tires.

He dipped a rag in a bucket of lukewarm soapy water and started scrubbing the left side. Sure, he could have gotten a professional car wash but he liked to work with his hands. It was surprisingly nice weather. The last few days had been rather crisp but now the sun was shining brightly, its light outweighing the breeze that made the leaves fall from the trees. He had turned on the radio to a random station. It seemed to be an eighties themed program but Dean didn’t really care. The music was just background.

The gas stop was not heavily frequented. Two truckers were standing a few yards away, having a smoke and a chat. Dean didn’t pay attention to them. He was too preoccupied with cleaning the headlights. There was a crack in one of them. He might have to replace it soon. He wrung out the rag and let it soak full of water again. He bent over the hood to clean it all. He had to stretch to reach the part where it turned into the window.

His neck was prickling, his hunter instincts kicking in; someone was staring at him. He turned his head to see who it was. It was the truckers. Smug grins on their faces. Now they were jeering.

“Yeah, show us that sweet ass, hun!” one of them called.

Dean turned around and flipped them off.

They both laughed.

“Come on,” the other one said, “That was quite a show. No need to stop now. Come on, how about a lil’ wet t-shirt contest, huh?”

A show? Cleaning his fucking car was a show?! It was not as if he had been cleaning it dressed in a bikini only with wet hair and sexy music in the background. This was no fucking porn, this was real life. And in real life washing your car was about as sexy as taking the trash out. It was nothing to gawk at. _He_ was nothing to gawk at.

Dean dropped his rag into the bucket and picked it up. Slowly he walked up to the truckers, who seemed amused still and quite unafraid. When Dean was only a yard away from them, he stopped and with one swift movement, he poured the dirty water at them. The water knocked off one of their caps, their faces were hit and t-shirts wetted. Dean forced a smile.

“Have fun with your wet t-shirts,” he said dead serious.

 

He left them behind, wet and shocked. He went inside his half-washed car, started the engine. He felt angry. Not angry, but absolutely furious. And at the same time, he could feel tears coming to his eyes. He blinked them away. Why was he crying?

He felt like shit. Those guys were only the top of the iceberg. The radio was still playing, a joyous tune and vocals by a woman.

 

_No one on Earth could feel like this_

_I’m thrown and overflown with bliss_

_There must be an angel_

_Playing with my heart, yeah_

“Cas?” Dean asked again over the sound of the music.

 _Cas, come on you whiny sucker. Talk to me._ But there was no reply. Nothing. No rustling of wings, no gravelly “Hello, Dean”. Just an empty seat beside him and Eurythmics in his ears.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics are from "You Sexy Thing (Miracles)" by Hot Chocolate and "There Must Be An Angel (Playing With My Heart)" by Eurythmics.


	8. H is for heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean does karaoke (omg so canon), cries and, eventually, has an epiphany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue for OMC.

After his fifth bowl of peanuts – he was starving – and a considerably higher amount of shots, Dean was singing. Or to be precise, he was trying to. He had never been the best singer exactly and he didn’t have full control over his female voice either. Also, he was drunk. He had been drinking too much, but not even the liquor burning its way through his guts could cover the fact that he was feeling cold from the inside.

There was a small stage in the Karaoke bar and people were gathered around. The audience mainly consisted of elderly people, with a few younger ones here and there. It was not exactly the kind of place Dean usually frequented, but it had been the closest. He had started drinking, pissed because he was in this shitty situation and there was nothing he could do about it. Being a woman was so much worse than he had expected. He had thought that the worst of all would be Sam’s taunting. Well, he had been wrong. All while he finished the drinks, he shot the guys in the bar wary looks. He expected someone to come up to him and say something inappropriate. He hadn’t even tried to flirt with the attractive bartender showing cleavage.

He didn’t know why he was doing this. Some invisible force had ushered him to go up there and grab the microphone moisturized by his predecessors.

“ _All by myse-he-helf, all by myse-he-helf, don’t wanna be…_!” he sang, his voice cracking.

He had called for Cas a couple times. He wanted to set this straight. Hell, he would even apologize. If that meant that Cas would speak with him again, he would do it. Anything but this fucking silence. Cas was his _best friend_ and he _needed_ him. Needed him in this fuckthing of a world where one could be cursed by a witch or killed by a werewolf or whatnot. He needed his angel by his side. He had called him again in the car and in the restroom, but no reply.

Sam had left several messages on his phone, getting more worried each time. Finally Dean had replied, that he was fine, which, of course was a lie. But when had been the last time the two of them had been honest about that with each other? He didn’t want him to be worried about him. But of course Sam was worried.  _I’m just glad you overcame your internal struggle_ , he had said. What _internal struggle_?!

“ _All by myself, anymore…_ ”

The crowd cheered, but he didn’t feel good. The outro was not over yet, when he carelessly dropped the microphone and returned to the bar, sulking.

“’nother one, please,” Dean mumbled and the barkeeper complied.

Next in line for karaoke was a group of friends, probably college students. They were all giggling and holding onto each other while they tried to keep up with the fast pace of  the Spice Girls’ “Wannabe”. Dean had never had that. A clique, people who knew him better than he did, people he could just hang around with, watching TV and eating pizza. He had made some friends throughout his life but eventually they left him. He didn’t blame them. He really didn’t. He was the one to blame. He was poison. Knowing him was lethal and those sensible enough to feel that had backed off quick enough. He didn’t blame them. They were better off without him.

Now Cas had left him, too. Cas, of all people. And he was drinking and drinking and drinking to hide the truth from himself: He cared.

Where would he be if it hadn’t been for Cas? In hell, tortured and beaten, or worse: torturing and beating. Cas had saved him. He had done it over and over again. _Maybe he’s tired of saving me_ , Dean thought, _maybe he finally sees it. That I’m not worth saving. That I never was and that all the things he’s been through are ultimately my fault._

 

The friends left the stage, bright smiles on their faces, their eyes shining and he wondered how they could smile so much when there were wars on Earth, a war in Heaven and a war in his heart. They sat down on a table close to Dean, three guys and two girls. One guy had an arm around one of the girls’ shoulder and they were laughing, almost like Dean and Cas had when they had been thrown out of the brothel. It felt like it was a century ago. It had been an awful situation – they had been facing death – but Cas had managed to make him feel good, simply by being his awkward self.

Again tears crept into Dean’s eyes when he thought of that night. It was ridiculous. It was a happy memory and he was crying. In fact, he was sobbing.

 

* * *

 

A couple hours later (the peanuts were sold out), the bar was almost empty. An old man was singing country songs, but no one really listened. The barkeeper polished beer glasses, a bored look on her face.

Dean had paid his drinks, using a credit card with the name Donald Stettson Sr on it. He staggered outside, supporting himself on the row of bar stools.

The night sky was pitch-black. He searched his handbag for the Impala’s keys. How did women manage to find anything in there?

He was still looking for the keys when he crossed the parking lot which was not bituminized. It was an uneven ground. He stepped into a small hole and tripped. He fell, his face hitting hard on the broken rocks. He cried out it pain, his bag slipping from his grip.

He could hear hurried footsteps.

“You okay?” someone asked.

“I jus’ wanna go home,” Dean wailed.

A hand helped him sit up. He looked up and in the blue light of the sign saying _Kansas Karaoke Kingdom_ he could see it was one of the college guys. He was lean, with big concerned eyes and a cigarette butt in his hand. He was not the guy who had seemed to be together with the girl. He had been the one who had held the mic.

Dean fetched his bag. The keys had fallen out. Well, that was something. He snuffled and struggled to get up. Swaying a little, he put the keys in the lock.

“Wowowow,” the guy said, holding Dean’s arm. “You wanna drive? You’re drunk as fuck.”

“So?” Dean said carelessly, turning around to him.

“So, you wanna die in a car crash or something?”

“I’ll come back to life _anyway_ ,” Dean replied, shrugging.

“Yeah, I’m sure, but let’s not risk it,” the young man said, leading Dean away from the car.

He made him sit down on a bench and stubbed out his cigarette.

“I can call you a cab,” he offered, “Just tell me where you live.”

“In a secret bunker,” Dean said, “I call it _The_ _Batcave_.”

“Shit, you really had a lot,” he stated, chuckling.

Dean suppressed a burp and nodded, but he didn’t say anything. After a while he asked: “So, that’s your car?”

“’S is my dad’s.”

“You got family here? Anyone I can call?”

“Just my lil’ brother Sam. Well, actually he’s giant, you know. And Cas.”

“Who’s Cas?”

“He’s an angel,” Dean replied truthfully, his voice somber.

“Yeah, I bet. Shall we call him then?”

“He’s not replying.”

The guy nodded knowingly.

“Lemme guess, you’re here tonight, drinking, because of him.”

Dean didn’t say a thing. He just looked at the guy, wondering how a stranger could possibly know. He didn’t know it himself after all. Yes, he was drinking because of some _guy_. He was yearning for the presence of another man. That was gay as fuck, wasn’t it? Yet here he was, sitting with even another one and he had to admit it, he was handsome. He had a young face and wore a baseball cap over light brown corkscrew curls. His eyes were fixed on Dean and those eyes made Dean gulp. They were blue. Not _that_ kind of blue, but still.

“You know, if a guy makes you want to get wasted, he’s probably not an angel.”

“It’s not his fault. S’is all my fault,” Dean mumbled, “… all my fault.”

 “Hey, it’s alright,” the guy said and put an arm around Dean’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “It’s alright,” he said over Dean’s sobs.

Dean knew that it wasn’t true, so he sobbed even more. He was drawn closer and he huddled against this stranger, his need for comfort bigger than his hunter instincts to never trust anyone. The guy didn’t seem to mind, holding him and fixing a strand of hair that had fallen across Dean’s face. “Ssshh,” he made, “’s alright.”

His warmth was comforting and Dean closed his eyes. He wished that the hand on his back was another hand and that it was another heart that he could hear beating in the chest beside him. He wished that someone else was embracing him and saying it was alright and _I forgive you_.

His helper was stroking his hair, gently rocking him like a baby. Dean adjusted his head so he was looking up into those pretty eyes that reminded him so much of someone else’s. He could pretend they were his.

“You’ve got so pretty eyes, baby,” he mumbled. “So, so, pretty, Cas…”

Dean softly detached himself from not-Cas, just to lean forward and press his lips onto his. He seemed surprised, but not appalled. His mouth opened ever so slightly to give Dean a better access. Dean inched closer. He stared into those blue eyes but they fluttered shut. Dean moved cautiously, somewhat climbing his lap. The guy sighed in the kiss. Encouraged, Dean let his tongue glide into his mouth.

This seemed to startle the guy and he pulled back, slowly but firmly.

“Wha’s wrong?” Dean asked.

“We both know it’s not me you want - let’s not start something you’ll regret later.”

 

* * *

 

What he noticed first was the smell. It was not unpleasant. Breakfast. Now, he was used to waking up in unfamiliar places – motel rooms they only had for the night and such.Yet, this didn’t seem to be a motel room. He gathered that much from the brightness of light that he was met with when he opened his eyes, and the soft feeling of the blanket on top of him. He slowly got up, alert. Where was he? He realized that he was in his underwear, his pants and top lying beside the bed. It was a small room, but it had a large window. There were some music magazines stacked beside a small wardrobe. Facing him was an open door. And he could hear some faint music and a sizzling sound.

He got up, grabbed his pants and put them on. His handbag was there too. He took it in one hand. It might serve him as an improvised weapon, something he could throw at an attacker if it was necessary.

He came through the door and found himself in a kitchen slash living room. In front of the stove stood a young man with light brown corkscrews and pajama pants, frying eggs and bacon.

“Hiya,” he said cheerfully, turning around. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Dean said automatically.

He remembered him. The parking lot. The kissing. He just didn’t remember what had happened next.

“You sure? What about your head?”

Now that he had mentioned it, he suddenly felt a throbbing pain in his head. He reached for his temple, massaging one side, while still clutching his handbag in the other hand.

“Ouch,” he mumbled.

“I can get you an Aspirin,” the cook said, “Do you want some of this? Or are you a vegetarian?”

“Definitely not vegetarian and Aspirin would be great,” Dean said.

He watched the man disappear through another door. His pajama pants were hanging loosely on his hipbones and he was wearing no shirt. Dean caught himself staring. He had a nice body – not exactly male model potential, he was simply not trained enough for that, but his broad shoulders… It was kind of hot. _I’m attracted to a guy!_ , Dean thought, _and I kissed him – thinking of another guy_. _And, apparently, I followed him to his place. Where I woke up nearly naked._ _Did I…?_ It was impossible, wasn’t it? He was Dean Winchester after all. Dean who had always dug chicks. He was heterosexuality in person. He’d lost track of how many women he had sex with. He _loved_ women. He loved the curves, the softness of their bodies and their sweet mouths. It had always been like that. Maybe it was all because he was now a female. _That’s not true and you know it_ , a small voice said in his paining head and it sounded a bit like an annoyed Sam. _Admit it, you always checked out the other guys after P.E. classes. That time in Alabama where Dad dropped you off with Sammy for three weeks and you and this Finn kid got drunk and he kissed you? You were kissing him back and you could remember, even though you said otherwise. You watched Yaoi and you liked it. You check out random guys’ butts, just cause, because it doesn’t mean anything, right? Well, it does. You think about Doctor Sexy when you’re in the shower. You think about him slamming you against that wall in the elevator, kissing you roughly. And you thought about Cas. About how great he looked in pants and shirt only and about how great he would look without them. You thought about that goddamn kiss you gave him, like kisses suddenly mean something to you. You think about that kiss every time you see those lips. You think about him, even when you kiss another guy. Hell, you kissed a guy. How is that straight? You are lying to yourself. That is what this is. And you’ve been doing it for long enough._

He jumped when the guy returned to the kitchen. He beckoned Dean to sit down on the small table and put a glass of water and a box of painkillers in front of him. He had put on a t-shirt and Dean silently thanked him.

“Thanks, uhhh…” he made.

“It’s Nicholas,” the man offered.

“Deanna,” Dean replied. “Listen, Nicholas, what exactly happened last night?”

“Well, you were singing Céline Dion, drank a lot of alcohol and faceplanted in the parking lot,” Nicholas said, placing a plate with breakfast in front of Dean and joining him on the table.

“That’s not what I -”

“- meant, I know. No, we didn’t sleep with each other.”

Dean nodded.

“I just felt sorry for you and wanted to make sure you were safe. I don’t like people taking advantage of others.”

Dean gave him a smile, before he downed the Aspirin. He sometimes forgot that there was some good in this world.

“It’s not that I would not have sex with you, though,” Nicholas said, without looking directly at Dean, “You’re really attractive.”

“Uh, thanks,” Dean replied, “Same, I guess. But, you know…”

“There’s him. Yes, I understand.”

 

* * *

 

He left half an hour later, his head a little better and with Nicholas’ number.

His cell rang, just when he had reached the Impala, which was still parked in front of _Kansas Karaoke Kingdom_. It had been a twenty minutes’ walk and Dean was happy that he could sit and lean back. He started the engine and grabbed for his cell phone.

“Hello?” he said, when he answered the phone.

“Dean?! Where the fuck are you?!” Sam said.

“On my way home,” Dean replied.

“I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday. Where the hell have you been?”

“God, Sammy, chill, alright? I was pissed because some macho dudes were being assholes so I went drinking and stayed at someone else’s place.”

“And you couldn’t have told me in a text or something? You said you were going to wash the car and then you just didn’t come back!”

“Calm, down. I’m not a baby, I can look after myself!”

“Oh, can you?! Because the last time I checked, Cas had to save your ass!”

Dean didn’t reply. It was too true.

“And now he’s gone for a couple days and all you do is sulk. Cas is a thousand years old and a fucking angel, Dean, _he_ can look after himself. And you know, I get it right? You like him a lot and you’re best buddies, but you can’t expect him to hang around all the time. He’s got other things to do. So, stop acting like some whiny _bitch_ whose crush has dumped her.”

“Well, you may not have noticed, but I _am_ a fucking bitch, alright, and if you don’t like that then you can shove it!” was Dean’s witty reply.

“That’s not my point, Dean! Just come home, alright, I need the car.”

 

* * *

 

Instead of announcing his arrival, Dean went straight to the basement room they used to practice their shooting. He took a gun with him, carefully loaded it and released the safety. He aimed and shot and like usually, his rage helped him focus. He shot the figure at the back of the room in its chest, three times in a row.

He could hear the faint roar of Sam starting the Impala. He was angry. Angry at Sam ( _How did he dare calling me a bitch?!),_ angry at Cas ( _Why is that fucker not answering my prayers?!_ ) and at himself ( _I am gay - what the fuck?!)_ He still had to wrap his head around it. He liked other men. It was so clear to him now and he couldn’t understand how he didn’t see it before. Yet, it felt strange to admit it. He had been involved with girls intimately since he had been sixteen. It was such a huge part of him. He prided himself with being able to have any lady he wanted. His father had always encouraged this behavior. He had been very strict, but when it was clear that Dean was hooking up with a girl, he had never said a thing against it. Dean had found John’s porn magazines when he was fourteen and John was bound to know, but he didn’t say a thing. In his opinion, in order to be a man, you had to be good with the girls. John didn’t consider himself to be homophobic. He didn’t care what other people did. But in his eyes being with another man did make you lose part of your masculinity – which only proved again that he was not to judge whether he was homophobic. Dean had grown up with those ideas and although he was a bit more open himself, those ideas were still in his head. He had always tried to be tough. He had had to. He’d always sought his father’s approval, even if that meant to shut up and to put his own interests on hold. So talking about how it had kind of felt good when he had kissed a boy hadn’t been an option.

But there was no use in pondering about what his dead, shitty father would think about him now, was there? How did he himself feel about it? What would he do with the knowledge he gained about himself? Maybe it _was_ time to visit Purgatory in Florida.

 

After sometime Dean ascended to the map room which they considered their living room. Sam was still out. His head was hurting like hell – the gun shots didn’t really help. Also, his pain seemed to have spread to his lower abdomen as well. He decided that it might be best to just lie down and spend the day in bed.

 

He woke up three hours after he went to bed, because of a hot pain and an uncomfortable wet feeling in his pajama pants…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could that possibly be? No one knows. Except maybe everyone with a uterus.


	9. I is for I'm a unicorn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine Dragons: "Bleeding Out"

At first he thought he had had a wet dream – although he couldn’t remember anything of the like. Then he remembered that he was not a guy anymore. His next thought was that he had wet himself in his sleep which was even more embarrassing. None of that could explain this white, hot pain, however.

It was when he had reached the toilet and saw the large, brownish stain in his panties that the penny dropped. It was blood. And it wasn’t from any external wound.

“Holy… _shit_ ,” Dean breathed.

Slightly panicky Dean rolled toilet paper and stuffed it in his underwear. When he wiped himself clean after his morning piss, there was blood on the paper; this time a bright scarlet. His urine reminded him of the Darjeeling tea that Sam sometimes drank. It was all rather alarming.

He took the toilet roll with him in his room, changing into a fresh pair of panties laid out with a generous amount of toilet paper. He felt a little like a kid who hadn’t made it to the restroom in time. He put on Charlie’s old sweatpants and hoped that she wouldn’t mind.

He searched his bedside cabinet for painkillers and downed two of them at once. Then he crawled up on his bed. He couldn’t believe it. _A period. I’m on a fucking period!_ He impatiently waited for the painkillers to kick in, but somehow they didn’t seem to work. The dull pain went on and on. It was just above his hip bones, a steady ache, as if a branding iron was pressed against his abdominal wall from the inside.

Then there was a sudden cramp.                                                                         

 “Cas?!” he whimpered, “CAS!”

 _Seriously? Is that what I have become? A whiny baby who calls out for Cas whenever it is hurt?!_ But he didn’t care. He just wanted him to make it stop. His shouts alarmed Sam, who had been in his own room on the corridor and stormed into the room.

“Dean, are you alright? What’s the matter?!” he asked worriedly.

Dean was unable to reply. He clenched his teeth.

“Is it some side-effect of the spell?”

“Kinda,” Dean groaned.

“After all this time -”

There was a whooshing sound.

“Dean,” Castiel said, “you’re in pain.”

Relief washed over Dean when he saw the angel’s familiar face. He had come. He was going to make it okay.

In no time Cas was by his side and quickly examining him. Dean fleetly noticed that Cas was not in his trench coat but he was too preoccupied by his aching abdomen to see what he was wearing instead.

“What is it, Cas?” Sam wanted to know, sounding nervous.

 “It appears that Dean is menstruating,” Castiel said flatly after a moment of consideration.

“He is _what_?”

“Menstruating,” Castiel repeated patiently, “His uterus is regenerating the endometrium.”

“And it _hurts_!” Dean hissed.

He had gotten up and paced up and down his room, in a bowing position. “God, I wanna throw myself of A CLIFF!”

“Dean, don’t be overly dramatic,” Sam said, bitchfacing, “I’m sure it’s-”

“I am not being overly dramatic!” Dean shouted, “Why does it hurt _so much_?!”

“Your muscles are contracting,” Castiel explained calmly.

So what? _Your muscles are contracting._ Muscles were contracting all the time, weren’t they? Now that Sam knew that there was ‘nothing wrong’ with him, he was totally relaxed. Dean was somehow angry at how calm his brother and friend were. Couldn’t they see he was suffering unbearable pain?!

“Did you take painkillers?” Sam inquired.

“The strongest we own legally,” Dean answered, massaging his stomach.

“To ease the pain you need to relax your muscles,” Cas informed him, “Sometimes applying warmth or pressure to certain points feels good. Another way to achieve relief is through orgasm. If you let me, I might be able to help you.”

“You what?!” Sam and Dean said in unison and for a moment Dean forgot his agony. Sex. Cas was suggesting sex. To help him with period cramps. _Sex_. Actual sex. _Cas._ He stared at Castiel, who was looking innocent. Alright, maybe Dean hadn’t been wrong at all when he thought that Cas thought there was something going on that was more than friendship. Maybe Cas’ reaction at the club really had been jealousy and he did, in fact, felt attraction toward him. Dean’s mouth went dry. So, Cas wanted him. Well, in _that way_ , that is. He was probably just curious, wanted to try sex to see why humans liked it so much. That would be so like Cas. Because there was no way that Cas was actually having a crush on Dean, was there? But what if?

Dean had decided to stop lying to himself. He was not straight. He was… attracted to women. And men. Yes, there _was_ a word for it but he had never thought that it would apply to him. It just sounded so strange in his head. ‘Bisexual’. Bisexuals were a bit like unicorns. Yes, it seemed plausible that they existed but he wouldn’t believe in them until he saw one with his own eyes. He’d never thought about bisexuality much because, duh, he was straight. Well, apparently he was wrong. He was a fucking unicorn.

And Cas seemed to want to get in his pants. What was he supposed to do? Embrace the rainbow? But what, if it _really_ was just Cas being curious or Cas just wanting to help his best friend because he didn’t understand that this was a taboo, that _just-friends_ did not do that, not ever.

“W-what?” Dean muttered again, as if he hadn’t heard him properly.

Cas’ head was tilted in confusion. He looked from one Winchester to the other, unable to comprehend their reaction. Then he shook his head in sudden realization. Now it was Dean who was confused. Why was he shaking his head like that?

 “I was not suggesting we should partake in sexual interactions -” Castiel said.

Oh. It was all a misunderstanding. Of course it was. Why should Cas suddenly turn all Janet Weiss on him and start wanting the, uh, _V_?

“ _Although_ ,” Cas continued and Dean inhaled sharply, “it _is_ a simple way of eliminating the tension in your muscles and the oxytocin that is released into your bloodstream at your climax will function as a natural analgesic.”

“So… uh, what do we do?” he asked nervously.

He was not sure what he wanted really. Did he even want Cas to fuck him? He was not himself after all and although he had had sex with Leah, this was something different. This wouldn’t be a meaningless one-night-stand. They wouldn’t – hell, they _couldn’t_ – part ways afterward. Apart from that he felt ashamed. He was there with a shitton of toilet paper stuffed into his underwear and crying out in pain. He didn’t think that was exactly the sexiest state he had ever been in.

Still, the thought of sex was intriguing and hearing Cas talk about it, even though it sounded more like a biology lecture, was kind of arousing. He wondered how Cas would sound like if he really dirty talked. _Today you’re my little bitch_ , he recalled. Uh-oh.

He still stared at Cas, paralyzed. What was he going to say?

“I might be able to use my grace to ease the pain,” Cas suggested. “If that’s alright with you,” he added.

“Alright,” Dean said.

Was he disappointed? Relieved? No, he was rather tense and that pain hadn’t stopped either. _We wouldn’t have this conversation if it had,_ he reminded himself. _This is about your fucking period and not your feelings about Cas._

“Good. Sit over here,” Cas ordered.

Dean obeyed, leaning his back against the bed-head. Castiel sat down next to him. He lifted Dean’s shirt, his fingers brushing over the naked, heated skin above the waistband of his pants. Dean shivered. This was rather intimate. Cas hand started to gleam blueishly. The relief was immediate. Somehow he could feel the grace flowing through him. It seemed to have a cooling effect, which felt heavenly after that burning ache. Dean sighed. Castiel looked at him expectantly. He gave him a small nod.

Cas slightly moved his hand, gently massaging the area. He was turned toward Dean and Dean didn’t dare looking at him. Castiel was so close. Even closer than usual and that meant a lot considering his personal space issues.

It made him a little nervous. He was wondering what Cas was thinking now and whether he knew, what _he_ had been thinking only a minute ago. Cas had always been fairly good at reading him. It seemed to be an angel thing. It probably was connected to his ability to hear prayers, so Dean always tried not to think too loudly. Which was an impossible task. He hoped Cas couldn’t hear what he was thinking right now. He was so conscious of that hand, so far down south that it would be easy for Cas to _touch_ him. Cas’ eyes were still on Dean. He knew these eyes so well. Blue was simply Cas’ color. Blue were his tie, his eyes, his grace. He felt like he couldn’t look directly at him and that was something new as well. Sam had often teased him about the lingering gazes the two of them shared. Dean had never considered that to be a romantic gesture or anything. It was just nonverbal communication. But maybe was Sam right, like always. Dean really liked those eyes, yet now he feared that by looking into them, Cas would know the truth.

He would know that Dean was feeling something for him. He wasn’t sure how Cas would react. Was it even possible for him to reciprocate those feelings? Maybe Cas would even be repulsed. He remembered their brief kiss in the mall and how utterly shocked Cas had looked.

“Are you feeling better?” Castiel asked in a low tone.

Dean nodded. He was better, physically; but his head was spinning.

“You seem tense. Is something else troubling you?”

 “I’m good,” Dean lied. “You make me feel good,” he added and immediately bit his tongue. “I mean _this_ is good. It _feels_ good.”

“I’m glad it does,” Castiel said.

“Uh, alright, guys,” Sam said, clearing his throat.

Dean had completely forgotten that he was still in the room. He forced himself to unlock his gaze from Cas’ circling fingers. Sam was standing awkwardly in the doorway. Well, they had debated having sex with each other, hadn’t they? _No, Dean,_ you _debated having sex with Cas._ Maybe his brother was a bit better at reading his face than the angel, because he seemed to be really uncomfortable.

“I’m gonna leave you to your… erm, pain killing. Gonna go on a grocery run. Anything I can get you?”

“I don’t know,” Dean replied. “Tampons?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want a Cas.


	10. J is for Just be human!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas ponders. Sam purchases.

_The human perception is so limited_ , Castiel thought. They were superficial creatures, barely able to perceive more than the visual. Everything they believed in was constructed around what they observed. Humans were supposed to be the ones _feeling_ , but they certainly were not the ones _sensing_. Angels had a different view on the world their father had created. Sometimes they were able to get a glimpse behind the scenes. He could sense every molecule, well, every atom, really. Sometimes it was hard to focus on the macrocosm when he saw the microcosms that it was made of. There was something beyond the matter and angels were much better at sensing it than humans.

While humans could only see their ‘meat suit’, angels could see the soul. What beautiful things souls were. Cas was fascinated by them. He himself didn’t have a soul and maybe that was the reason.

He knew the Winchesters’ souls pretty well. Their adventures had left marks on them and they were not as pure and bright anymore as they had been when they were created. No, they were battered and beaten, yet still they shone brightly. He knew the soul beside him by heart. Every crack and core. He had carried this soul out of hell. He could see himself there. He could see where soul and grace had touched. He had marked Dean, not only physically. He would always recognize Dean, no matter what state his body was in.

Sure, his face was familiar too. He had learnt to read his it as well as his mind. The green eyes that had seen tears far too often, the eye-brows, always furrowed and the lips that curled up to a fake smile on a regular basis. He looked different now, there was no denying, but it was still Dean that was sleeping in his arms.

It was ironic. Dean had prayed for him so often and now that he was there with him, he was asleep. Castiel watched over him with fondness. It felt good to make Dean feel better, after he had deliberately hurt him for the last couple days. _Be human_ , the cupid had advised him. So he did, what he thought a man would do after being left aside: he kept his distance. Being human also meant that there was no invisible spying. So he had waited for Dean to call him. His phone had been in his hand. He had been in the forest where Dean had been buried. He often went there, but never visited the spot where he had ascended from the soil. The place was special – somehow it was the veil. It was where his life as a good little soldier had ended and he became what he was now. A rebel, a lover.

Of course Dean didn’t need to phone him to communicate. He often did, however. Maybe it was the reassurance of hearing an actual answer, or it helped him cope with the fact that he was not human after all.

He wondered whether that was an issue. Dean, who knew the supernatural so well, had always tried to distance himself from that. The relationships that mattered had been with ordinary women. As much as he pretended that he was a Hunter by choice, Cas knew that secretly Dean craved for an apple-pie-life, too. He just thought it was not possible. Cas didn’t exactly blame him. It hurt him, however, that Dean thought himself to be cursed. He deserved so much and got so little.

He had hated being the one to hurt him again. Because apparently his disappearance had had this effect. Dean hadn’t called him on the phone. No, he had prayed to him. And each prayer had become more desperate. It had made Cas feel guilty – _I always come when you call_ , he had said once and it had been a promise. A promise that he had broken now. Still, Dean’s reaction made him feel full of hope. It had almost seemed like Dean needed him. It had been those words that he wanted to hear: “Cas, I _need_ you.” Because ultimately that’s what love was about, wasn’t it: need.

What did _he_ need? He had thought about that a lot. What was it that he wanted from Dean? He wanted Dean to acknowledge their bond. He wanted to be in a romantic relationship with him and explore what that meant. He wanted to know more about these feelings that he had and he _needed_ Dean to know.

Still he had to be absolutely sure. Once he made a move, there was no turning back. He was unsure of Dean’s feelings. He had made no confession, but Castiel needed to hear it. He felt insecure about emotions. It had been hard to figure out his own. There was no way he could be sure of someone else’s. His instinct – such a human thing – told him that there was something. Sometimes he felt like Dean was thinking a lot about him – thoughts too quiet for him to hear. There was something about the way Dean’s eyes lingered on him, about casual little touches. But perhaps he was misinterpreting, because there were so many things militating against the idea. Dean could not possibly be attracted to him. He preferred intercourse with women. His intimate relationships had always been with females. Castiel had chosen a male vessel. Of course it was possible to change that, but he felt like that wouldn’t be right. This was the Castiel Dean knew and if he could not love him the way he _looked_ like, how was he supposed to love him the way he _was_?

Still, he tried to imagine how to make himself more attractive to Dean. This was a human thing, wasn’t it? Grooming? Dean had often commented on his coat. He hadn’t failed to notice the looks he had given him in the club and it had made him feel excited, but back then he hadn’t been able to interpret why. So, what kind of clothing would Dean find alluring? He knew about Dean’s love for women’s lingerie, but he knew enough about etiquette to know that it was not considered appropriate clothing to be seen in in public. Also, he had a male vessel and because of a strange social concept it was almost scandalous for men to wear it.

He had figured then, that it was probably a good idea to choose similar, casual clothing like the Winchesters usually wore. It would have an air of familiarity and it was something that Dean liked. He zapped into a shop to purchase a pair of jeans and a _Led Zeppelin_ shirt. “Stairway to Heaven” was one of Dean’s favorite songs.

He had pondered on how their reunion could be perfect. Dean would call out for him and hopefully confess his feelings. Then he would respond that he felt the same way. Dean would laugh about his strange outfit and then, yeah, then he could present him with some pie and a beer.

But the kind of call he had hoped for never happened. Instead he had felt Dean’s pain and he had come, hurrying, laying all his plans aside. He had not completely forgotten his promise.

Now Dean was lying in his arms, snuggled up to his chest. It was almost like he had imagined the scenario. This was so human; seeking comfort in physical contact. He wondered whether Dean was conscious of what he was doing. His friend was fast asleep now, with Cas eliminating the pain his womb had been causing him. Healing Dean, although exhausting, always felt good. It was a good feeling to be of use, to help a friend, but there was also something else; an almost tingling sensation. His grace was flowing into him and got very close to the soul it had touched and marked. Sometimes he wondered whether all this, him falling for Dean, was because of that – their initial bond, forged in Hell – rather than all that they had been through together. Maybe they were meant to be. After all, it had been God who had brought them together. It was weird that the thought of his long-lost father could give him hope.

 

* * *

 

Sam was a little annoyed. He felt tired of being in the Bunker. Sure, it was more comfort than the cheap motel rooms they frequented could offer, but he got bored. Exploring the Men of Letters’ findings was interesting for some time, but after three days of reading he felt his eyes getting tired and he often caught himself just staring at a page, the lines getting blurry.

It annoyed him, because it basically was Dean’s fault – because he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut. Dean was of no use now. First there was the incident with the vamp and then the fight with Cas, or whatever that had been.

It was good to be outside, even when it was just for grocery shopping. For Sam, shopping meant relaxation. There were other things that he enjoyed, like jogging or pleasure reading, but shopping had something so normal about it. In the aisles of a superstore he could almost forget that he was an ex-blood junkie with a weird-ass weapon collection. It was often him who did the shopping, Dean was often simply too impatient to search for something. Getting the groceries also meant that he could choose what they were going to eat while at the Bunker, so that was a plus too.

He bought some groceries first and then headed for the drugstore that was attached to the store. When he finally found the feminine hygiene section, he stared at the shelf in disbelief.

He had thought that this was an easy task. That he just needed to grab a box and go. But hell no. Dean had requested tampons – but there seemed to be more than one kind: mini, large, extra-large and promised to be super absorbent, while others were supposed to be easy to insert and comfortable. To make the decision even worse, there were about twenty brands to choose from. He scratched his head. Did it matter which one he would pick?

He sighed and got his phone from his pocket. Putting down the heavy plastic bag, he filed through his contacts until he found the one he was looking for.

It took some time until he heard someone pick up.

“This is Lobelia Zimmer Bradley,” a young woman said.

“Charlie?” Sam asked.

“Sam?”

“Hi… are you busy?” he asked, “Cause we’ve got a situation here and I could need some female advice.”

“If spending the whole night programming three female characters for a game not yet released and hacking into _Ubisoft_ servers counts as being busy, then yes, I am being busy. But, I guess for the guys that saved my life I could make a break.”

“Uh, thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie, my queen, my love.


	11. K is for Kill me already!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Periods are a pain in the... abdomen.

An arm was wrapped around him, a warm, living pillow underneath his head and Dean felt incredibly peaceful. That is until he realized that he was snuggled up to Cas. He immediately detangled himself from the angel, feeling a blush creep on his face. This was embarrassing.

It was embarrassing because they were totally platonic menfriends (no homo). He had always made that clear and he slowly began to hate himself for it. He glanced at Cas to see whether he was looking uncomfortable, but he didn’t seem to be particularly grossed out. He, too, looked rather relaxed. He didn’t look out of place on Dean’s bed, underneath the wall decorated with record covers. He looked like he belonged there. He looked casual. He looked great.

It was strange to think about Cas that way – it was almost relieving. He sort of relished in the feeling of just allowing himself to think that way. He even allowed himself to let his eyes roam over Cas. He wasn’t wearing the trench coat. He wasn’t wearing his suit either. No, he was… was that a _Led Zeppelin_ shirt? Yes, those were the famous symbols. He was in jeans, too, and his hair was more ruffled than ever. Dean could feel his face getting hot again and when Cas met his gaze he shied away.

“How are you feeling?” Cas asked softly.

“I’m feeling…” Dean said, touching his abdomen, “… _good_. A little hungry, maybe.”

“Has Sam returned?” he added.

“I believe he’s downstairs,” Castiel replied.

Dean just hoped that Sam had gotten some tampons for him. He felt really self-conscious in his now bled through pants. He’d been bleeding onto the bed next to Cas. He quickly put on his dead man’s dressing gown to hide the big stain he suspected between his legs and covered the bed with his blanket. Castiel didn’t show a sign of disgust, however. He was running his hand through his hair which was such a human gesture that it really startled Dean. What was this all about, Cas wearing cool clothes for a change and messing up his dark locks? Maybe he was not the only one under a spell.

It was unfair that Cas should look so good while he must look terrible himself, with messy hair, stained underwear and a dressing gown that was three sizes too large for him.

Cas followed him downstairs, where Dean found his brother. Sam greeted him with a nod. He was sitting on the old map table, surfing.

“I’ve bought some stuff for you,” he said, indicating at a plastic bag on a chair next to him.

“Thanks,” Dean said, taking the bag.

He was about to leave for the bathroom, when he noticed Castiel’s unsure expression.

“Do you require me to come with you? To assist you?” he asked, looking at him with big blue eyes.

They stared at each other. What could Castiel possibly assist him with in the bathroom?! He was shocked to realize how quickly his brain could come up with a few things. If he had been a guy still, he would have needed a cold shower now.

“I don’t think so,” Dean said after a while.

“I’ll just… wait here then,” Castiel said with a vague gesture.

Sam, the asshat, laughed.

 

* * *

 

He decided that a shower - not a cold one, however – was still necessary and discarded his night gown. The hot water felt nice on him. He washed his hair – which took quite a while now. He used a generous amount of Sam’s shampoo and washed his body. His boobs were soft under his touch and he just held them for some time, as if he was weighing them. Weird. He proceeded with his wash and realized that between his legs the blood had made his pubic hair partly stick together. _WTF_ , he thought, trying to untangle it. He took the shower head – there was only one shower that had one, the others were typical pool showers – and directed it at his lady parts. It was a tickling sensation but in a way quite… arousing. He would explore that another time.

 

He unpacked the things Sam had bought for him. There were two kinds of tampons and a pink box of pads. _With wings_ it said on the front. What was that even supposed to mean? Would he be greeted by a feather boa? He opened one of the tampon boxes. This should be easy. Women did it all the time, didn’t they?

He took out one of the bullet shaped cotton pieces, approximately the size of his pinky finger. It was wrapped in plastic foil. The wrapper clung to his hand, being statically charged. He shook it vigorously to get it off. Then he took the tampon between index finger and thumb. A thin piece of string dangled from one end. So, this was how he was going to retrieve it, wasn’t it? When was he supposed to do that? In an hour? He had to read the instructions. Were there any instructions? He grabbed for the box with his other hand. He only caught the lid, however, and the whole content spilt over the bathroom floor.

“Fuck,” he cursed.

A small paper had fallen down between his feet and he picked it up, bowing down. The instruction was put in a very mollycoddling way and he felt like he was being talked to like a twelve-year-old.

So, he was supposed to push it in, using his finger. He pushed it ever so gently between the lips, feeling the hard pointy end rub against the sensitive skin. It was an unpleasant feeling right from the start. He kept going, the tampon now halfway buried inside, but it just became worse.

“Fuuuck,” he cursed, closing his eyes in pain.

He seriously hadn’t expected this. Why did it hurt so much? It had felt so good when Leah had touched him and this wasn’t that different, was it? When the tampon was fully sheathed inside, he pulled out his finger and got up. He could feel the tampon, with every movement and it hurt.

“Fuck,” he repeated.

Gingerly he pulled on the string attached to the tampon. It wouldn’t budge. What if it got stuck? What was he going to do then? He could feel tears gathering in his eyes, as he pulled harder and finally it came out, a little red at the tip.

He sighed in relief. He fished for the bag Sam had brought. He took out the box that said _pads_ on it and opened it. There were twenty singularly packaged pads inside. The silence of the bathroom was broken by the ghastly loud sound of him ripping open the wrapper. How could plastic foil be _that_ loud?

 

Half an hour later, he was roaming the fridge. Gosh, was he _hungry_. He had eaten two left-over burritos, a terrible tasting low fat yoghurt of Sam’s and a sandwich. His stomach had been grumbling all morning, but he figured that that was simply a side effect of having one’s period. He still hadn’t gotten used to the pad in his underwear. He felt like he was wearing a fucking diaper, which was sort of humiliating.

He had a look in all of the kitchen drawers, while Cas sat at the kitchen table. He could feel his gaze on him. Dean had opened the upper cabinets, and having forgotten to close them, promptly hit his head on one of them.

“Ouch, oh, fuck it!”

He touched his head, which turned warm under his hair.

“You alright?” Sam asked, who had come to get himself a peach.

“I need chocolate,” Dean whined, “Wasn’t there some chocolate?”

Sam exchanged a look with Cas.

“I know it sounds incredible, but the last time I bought some, you said it makes you fat and that I shouldn’t buy it,” Sam said.

“What?!” Dean protested.

Yes, he had said that. Because, yeah, that whole sugary stuff made him develop a muffin top in no time. And he had to stay in shape in order to be a good hunter. He didn’t care what he looked like. Seriously.

“Anyway, with your diet chocolate is the least of your problems,” Sam said smugly, juggling with the peach in his hand, before he left.

“I could get you some chocolate, Dean,” Castiel offered.

He got up, getting ready to zap to the next supermarket.

“No,” Dean said hastily, “Don’t go!”

He hadn’t meant to say that. It was just – he didn’t want Cas to leave again. They still hadn’t talked about it. About why Cas had left. He didn’t know how to approach the subject, or if he should approach it at all. Then he would have to explain, too. Why he cared, and most of all that he cared – because he did. He did so much. He was… _attracted_ to Cas. Cas was friend and family and he… he _needed_ Cas. _Cas is here now_ , he told himself. _That’s good._

He cleared his throat.

“I mean, there’s… peaches. I guess I could have an peach.”

“If this is because of your concerns about your physical appearance, then I can assure you that  you are, in fact, in a good shape, both in this form and your usual male form. And apart from the damage that is inevitable with an alcohol intake like yours, you are in a healthy state. There is no immediate danger of obesity. I suppose that you fear a loss of attractiveness, but from my observations I gather that you are generally perceived as exceptionally attractive. I figure it’s because of the eyes, lips and freckles, as well as your broad shoulders.”

Wait, what? Had Cas just called him _attractive_? He was becoming delusional.

“So, do you want that chocolate?” Cas asked, when Dean didn’t say anything.

 “Yes, why not…”

Cas was gone in a second and left Dean behind with a strange feeling in his guts that had nothing to do with his menstrual cycle. Cas returned five minutes later, with two big chocolate bars, a six pack and the newest issue of _The Rolling Stone_.

“Thanks, man,” Dean said honestly.

He would have liked to kiss Cas. Or give him a hug, at least.

“You’re welcome,” the angel said, smiling.

Dean opened the chocolate and took of a large chunk, then offered it to Cas, who declined.

Dean said down and sighed. This was good. Cas sat down opposite of him. The sight was still unfamiliar. How was it possible that Dean hadn’t noticed how attractive Cas was before? His dark brown hair formed such a nice contrast to his blue eyes. His rare smile was gorgeous. He was gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. _Dean, get a grip on yourself_ , he thought, looking anywhere but at Cas’ face. He looked at Cas’ shirt instead.

“What’s the deal with the shirt and all?” he asked.

“Oh, this?” Castiel said, picking at the blue fabric. “It’s a _Led Zeppelin_ fan shirt. You like that band, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“I thought you might like the shirt,” Castiel replied with an almost shy smile.

But it couldn’t be a shy smile, could it? Castiel was an angel of the Lord, for heaven’s sake.

 

They were doing laundry together – that is Sam was putting clothes into the washing machine, while Dean stood leaning against a table.

“Dude, is that your blood?” Sam asked, “Gross!”

He held up the towel Dean had been using in the morning. There was a brownish-red stripe on it. Shit. Well, not shit, but…

“It’s just blood,” Dean said, blushing.

Why was he constantly embarrassing himself? This whole thing was so stupid. He hated being tied to the Bunker – although he loved the place, it was home after all – but he got tired of it. He hated that there was a constant trickle of blood coming out of his damn vagina. He hated that Cas saw him like this. He loved having Cas around, obviously. But these newfound feelings blossoming inside himself… they made it difficult. He wasn’t sure how to act around Cas. He tried to act natural, to just be his old self – well, his old self with boobs. It was difficult because Cas was so close. The guy had always had an issue with personal space, and in retrospective Dean might not have been too insistent about him stepping back. Secretly he had liked it when Cas had leant in. And now Cas had told him that he was attractive. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the whole situation. He knew he had to act soon or he would go mental.

Cas was filing through his record collection. Dean had instructed him to find a certain _Led Zeppelin_ album – no way was Cas running around with a fan shirt of a band he barely knew – and he thought that maybe afterward they could have a talk. About what had happened and depending on how it went… but his womb decided that it had other plans for the afternoon.

“Jesus Christ Almighty, WHY ME?!” he cursed, when the first cramp hit.

 

* * *

 

Sam smiled when he got Charlie’s text. He peaked into their TV room where Dean was dozing on the couch huddled against Cas. Of course the angel had happily obliged when Dean had started whining about how he needed Cas’ healing hands again. Sam didn’t say that Dean wasn’t feeling pain, but he was sure that a pill would’ve done the trick, too. He had observed the little dance of Dean and Cas for a while now. It was hilarious, but also sad. He had been honest when he had told his brother that he would support him if he should decide to be together with Castiel. He liked Castiel. He was their friend. Technically, he wasn’t the same species, but after his affairs with a kitsune, a werewolf and, hell, a demon, he wasn’t in the position to judge. Castiel would always make sure that Dean is safe, and Dean wouldn’t have to feel guilty to pull him into the crap that was their life. Castiel had been a part of this life for so long now. Cas wasn’t a ticket out like Lisa. It was the real chance of making the life Dean had a bit more worth living. He liked to see the smile on his brother’s face. He wanted it to stay there.  So if that meant separate motel rooms in the future, hallelujah to that.

Sam could hear _Game of Thrones_ through the speakers and Cas was mildly paying attention, his hand on Dean’s abdomen. They were practically married, anyway.

 

Sam opened the door for Charlie. She did have a key but she thought it might not be a good idea to break into her friends’ secret hideout. Sam looked a little tired – like usually – but apart from that in good health. She was relieved. Sam hadn’t sounded well on the phone. She was curious on what their little _situation_ was – especially because it seemed to involve a woman. Not that she was looking. No, she had Dorothy now.

“Hey, is that a _Wicked_ shirt?”Sam greeted her, before pulling her into a hug.

She liked being hugged by Sam. He could envelop one completely. It felt safe there in his big arms.

“I’m defying heterosexuality,” Charlie said, grinning. “Dorothy hates it – well not that, but the shirt, you know.”

 

* * *

 

Sam led her through the tiled corridors to one of the empty bedrooms that she had stayed in on her previous visits. It was located next to Sam’s and unsurprisingly had a quite good WiFi signal. Dean’s room was on the same corridor but closer to the kitchen.

 “So, how’s the family business?” she wanted to know.

 “Currently on hiatus,” Sam said.

“Really?”

“Yeah – we’ve got ourselves a situation…”

 “Again, this word. _Situation_. Why can’t you tell me what’s up?”

“See for yourself,” Sam said, gesturing to the TV room’s door.

Charlie confidentially strode through the opening, halting, startled by the sight.

“Who’s that?” Charlie asked quietly, when she saw the young woman in Cas’ arms.

She looked kind of cute with her legs pulled up to her chest and her eyes closed. Who was that woman? The Winchesters didn’t have any female friends. Female friends always died or worse turned out to be Satan’s little bitch. Cas didn’t have any friends. Especially no lady friends.

“I thought Cas is gay,” Charlie whispered.

Sam chuckled.

“Wake up, Deanna, we’ve got a visitor,” Sam hollered.

The women woke up, grunting.

“What the hell, Sammy, whyya shoutin’ like this?”

Charlie looked from Sam to the woman and back.

“No fucking way!”

 


	12. L is for Love yourself, Dean!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's dreamy, isn't he?"

“It’s some Scottish curse,” Dean explained.

Charlie sat opposite of him on his beloved memory-foam mattress and she had a hard time not dropping her jaw again. Dean Winchester, her long distance best friend, was a beautiful lady. Gulp.

“It lasts one month, at least that’s what I hope.”

“So,” she said after nodding in sympathy, “What’s the deal with you and angel boy, then?”

To her surprise, Dean’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink.

“Uh…”

“Oh my god, you’re finally together, aren’t you?!”

“No! Why – why does everyone think we’re a couple?”

Charlie laughed, although she didn’t feel like it. It was sad, really.

She had her suspicions about Dean’s sexual orientation after she had caught the looks Dean had given some of his fellow knights in Moondor, but after reading Carver Edlund’s work…  There were three things she was absolutely positive about: First, Dean was not entirely straight. Second, a part of him – and she didn’t know how potent that part might was, thirsted for guys. And third, he was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Cas.*

But clearly Dean couldn’t acknowledge his feelings.

 “Maybe it’s the cuddling,” she replied.

“He’s just helping me through the period cramps. These sons of bitches come and go and it’s killing me!”

“Or the fact that you’re sharing clothes-”

“We’re not,” Dean said confused.

“The _Led Zeppelin_ tee?! Don’t tell me tax accountant of the Lord has suddenly established a taste in music - and sense of fashion.”

“Well, yeah. He was suddenly wearing the shirt! We…” Dean paused and frowned, “we didn’t talk for a couple days and then he came back wearing it. It’s not mine. He knows I like the band so… I don’t know.”

“So he’s trying to please you. Right. You’re so hetero with each other.”

Dean grimaced. Something had happened that he didn’t tell her.

“Did you two fight?” Charlie asked in earnest.

“It was really stupid. We were at a bar together and I tried to hook him up with a chick so _I_ could hook up with someone else, but he was kinda offended? I don’t understand why. I mean he probably thought that we’d spend some time together as buddies but… a guy has needs, right? Anyway he stormed off like I ditched him on a date or something. He threw a tantrum and then gave me the silent treatment for ages…”

Dean sniffed. His eyes were glimmering and when a tear ran down his cheek he mumbled: “Fucking hormones.”

Charlie leant over to give Dean a hug.

“He came back, though, didn’t he?” she said, “He always comes back for you.”

“You know what?” she added, “ Tonight we’re gonna have pizza and do a proper sleep-over. Everyone will get their hair braided. No excuses. You can choose: Katniss or Khaleesi.”

Dean smiled.

 

 _“… pretty men, pretty girls..._ _Most women don’t know what they like until they’ve tried it, and sadly so many of us get to try so little before we’re old and gray,”_ Margaery said.**

Charlie pressed pause.

“I need to go pee,” she declared.

She got up from her seat next to Dean. They had all squeezed onto Sam’s bed. It was quite an experience to watch TV with Cas who made the strangest comments. He compared stories to biblical tales and so on. Dean had a hard time concentrating on the onscreen blood. Firstly, there was the blood between his legs threatening to ruin the sheets again and secondly, there was the blood pumping through his veins with every heavy heartbeat. _Cas_ was lying next to him. When he’d asked whether he felt better now, he had said yes. He _did_ feel better. There had been no cramps since noon. He wished he had lied. No cramps meant no angel touch. He hated to admit it, but he’d already gotten used to Cas tending to his discomforts and the proximity that was attached to that. He would love to cuddle up to Cas again. He wondered whether Cas would reject him and if it would make him uncomfortable. He didn’t want the angel to feel awkward around him.

Charlie’s and Sam’s teasing was enough. It had been easy to ignore when he was yet unware of the true nature of his feelings for Cas, but now there was simply too much truth behind it all. He feared that Cas could read it on his face. That he would see it and then their friendship would forever be scarred.

So instead of making a move and burying his face in Cas’ neck like he wanted, instead of running his hands over him to explore the body that lay underneath the _Led Zeppelin_ shirt, he just slightly inched closer to Cas. When their shoulders finally brushed against each other, Cas’ body heat felt like a burn mark.

 

* * *

 

“Dean, you coming?” Charlie asked, standing in the doorway.

“Huh?” Dean made.

 “Girls going to the restroom together?”

She winked.

“Uh, okay,” he said and got up, too.

When they were on the corridor Dean asked: “So what’s the deal with girls always going to the bathroom together?”

“Well, Hermione was attacked by a troll, Moaning Myrtle killed by a basilisk… you get the idea. We have to go left, right?”

“Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

He waited while Charlie went into one of the stalls. Dean turned to the mirror, a pair of green eyes staring back. He had gotten used to the face. A little bit, at least. It didn’t feel so alien anymore. Once Charlie was done, she came out to wash her hands.

“You know Margaery is right,” she said. “Some girls like pretty men, some like pretty girls. _I_ like pretty girls.”

Dean didn’t reply. He could guess what she was talking about. It was not Margaery and it was not herself.

“What I’m saying is… no one is going to judge you. Everyone in this place loves you – unless you naughty boys have tied up some demon in the dungeon without telling me again. But jokes aside – I love you. Sam is your brother and he’ll love you no matter what. Cas has only ever loved you, Dean, even if you can’t see it. Just for once, Dean, please: Love yourself. Go for it.”

 

Charlie’s words stuck with him long after everyone had gone to sleep. He was lying in his own bed, curled up in a fetal position, his eyes wide open in pitch black darkness that surrounded him. For once, he wished Cas wouldn’t respect his privacy. He didn’t know if he had ever felt this kind of longing. If so, he couldn’t remember it. He felt like he was about to cry again. He didn’t deserve Charlie’s love. He wasn’t able to understand how she could sound so sure proclaiming that Cas loved him, had only ever loved _him_. A man who had to be rescued from Hell; nearly a demon. He sometimes wondered whether Cas could still see it when he looked at him. _Love yourself_ , Charlie had said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, when actually it was the complete opposite.

 

* * *

 

Charlie was lying awake, too. Her smartphone shone bright in the darkness. She stared at Dorothy’s name on the screen. She desperately wanted to hear her voice, but it was late and she probably was asleep. Charlie switched the phone off with a sigh and put it on the nightstand.

She, too, felt distraught by her conversation with Dean. How could Dean miss what was so obvious to her and to everyone who had ever seen the two of them together? How was it possible that fourteen year old fangirls in Idaho who had never laid an eye on them could see it and Dean couldn’t?

Then again she recalled how it had been with her and Dorothy. She had been in awe of her, which always led to levels of insecurity that seemed unimaginable to everyone who had seen her in full flirt mode. It seemed contradictory but it had always been this way.

She also hadn’t known whether Dorothy was into women. And Dorothy, as kick-ass and progressive a woman as she seemed, still was from a different time. It had taken some time, and their adventures in Oz, until they finally found each other. Because some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and decapitating a horde of flying monkeys is one of them.***

 

* * *

 

It was no use, she thought, pushing back her blanket. She would make herself a tea; maybe play _The Game_ for a while. There were still parts of the underwater world she hadn’t explored yet. Usually that calmed her down.

She walked through the cool corridors, a little unsure where the kitchen was. Finally she found it. She felt for the light switch and found it on her left. The neon lamps came to life and Charlie had to suppress a little scream when she saw Cas sitting at the kitchen table. She hadn’t expected him to be there, with lights out and all.

“Hey,” she greeted him.

“Hello,” he replied.

She walked past him and filled a kettle with water. While the water boiled, she looked through the cabinets searching for teabags.

Finally she sat down with a steaming mug of _Raspberry Winter Night’s Kiss_. She wondered which of the brothers had bought it, but she had a bet on Dean. He always played it tough but underneath he was a softy. She took a careful sip.

It felt weird to be alone with Cas. Charlie had only ever met him twice, yet only briefly, when they visited the boys. Still, she felt like she knew him. Sappy as the _Supernatural_ books were written, they gave a pretty good description of him. She also felt like there was a lot of Dean _in_ Castiel. Sometimes he was mirroring him, copying his gestures and she could swear that some of his speech patterns had found his way into Cas’ mouth.

“Whatcha doing down here in the dark?” Charlie asked.

“Thinking,” Cas answered.

They were quiet. Charlie could hear the faucet seep.

“I am in a difficult position,” Cas spoke suddenly.

Charlie looked up from her tea. She had supposed that Cas wasn’t in the mood to talk.

“Sam and Dean seem to trust you, therefor I will do the same.” He paused. “Being a friend of Dean’s you might be able to help me with something.”

Charlie nodded.

“Spending time with the Winchesters brought me closer to humanity than I ever was. I have come to understand that feelings are much more finely nuanced than I had thought. They can be confusing and overwhelming. For a long time, I did not understand what I, myself, was feeling. But know that I know, it plagues me all the more. You might have noticed that Dean and I share a bond. I have come to the conclusion that on my part, humans would call it love. Not only do I love Dean, I also feel romantic attraction toward him. I am sure that he does care for me, but I think that he’d never want to be romantically involved with -”

“Castiel, did you read the _Supernatural_ books?”

“If you’re referring to the _Winchester Gospel_ , then, yes.”

“The volumes you appear in, too?” she asked urgently.

Castiel nodded.

“Cas, these books have written ‘gay’ all over them!”

The angel tilted his head, just the way Edlund had always described it.

“I don’t think Chuck ever used that word in his work -”

“I don’t mean that in a literal way,” Charlie cut him off.

She quickly made a decision. She’d been right about Castiel’s feelings. She didn’t doubt that she was right about Dean’s as well. She would do what was best for her friend, right? She would be his wing woman whether he knew it or not.

“There’s so many hints. It’s the way he speaks about you. You’re his dreamy, nerdy, dorky Cas. You range so high in his list of importance. He considers you family, which is like, a big thing. Shitty as his childhood might have been, family is the only thing he ever had. Family equals love. You know how he is with Sam. There have been so many quiet _I love you_ s between the two of you. You rebelled against Heaven for him and he begged you to not ever change. And down in the cellar, he said it: ‘We need you. _I_ need you.’ He had to clarify that you matter to him, specifically. I think we both know what he really meant to say, even if he couldn’t. It’s not only me who saying this. Ask people on the internet! Ask Sam. Crowley said it. Balthazar said it. Even Zachariah saw it. In his vision of 2014, the two of you were lovers. ‘The only thing we have left, Dean and me, is each other.’ That’s what you said. But you never talked to Dean about this, did you? You wanted to protect him, not force him to talk about things that hurt him, about losing his brother to Lucifer. You care so much for him. He feels the same. Trust me, he does.”

“I know. I guess, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *that's from "Twilight" by Stephenie Meyer, obviously  
> ** "Game of Thrones" which I haven't seen yet, shame on me  
> ***"Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" by good ol' JK


	13. M is for Mary's apple pie.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apple pies are great. Just saying.

“Have you seen Castiel?” Dean greeted Charlie.

He had made breakfast. Charlie had been woken up by a mixture of delicious smells that came from the kitchen. When she came down, eggs and bacon was sizzling in a few frying pans on the stove and Dean had made coffee.

He had laid the table, too. The sight was more than welcoming. It felt like someone was at home here, quite different to the atmosphere last night when she had sat there with Cas. Oh, last night.

“You haven’t seen him yet?” she asked.

“ _No_. I checked the library and the file room. Maybe he’s gone down to the garage or…”

Dean didn’t finish his sentence.

So Castiel was gone again. But why? After their nocturnal talk she had thought that maybe today was the day. But no, Cas had gone. She hoped that it hadn’t been her fault. Had she said the wrong thing?

Dean started scrambling the eggs with such force that Charlie was sure he would leave scratches on the pan’s coating. He searched the cupboards for salt and shut the doors with a bang. Then he took the pan with the eggs and put it down on the table rather aggressively.

“So, you haven’t talked since yesterday?” she asked cautiously.

 “No. I haven’t seen the guy,” Dean said, “It’s typical. He comes and goes like some overgrown cat. Sometimes he’s getting uncomfortably intimate, turning up while you’re taking a shower -”

“He turned up while you were showering?!”

“- and then he just vanishes and gives you the silent treatment for a week.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“Ah, yes, because he always comes back for me, right?” Dean replied, sounding cynical. “Please.”

Charlie clenched her teeth. _Yes, you idiot,_ she thought. But Castiel trusted her. They had spoken in confidence, and as much as she felt obligated to Dean, she didn’t want to betray an angel’s trust. She hoped the two of them would work it out on their own soon.

 

* * *

 

Dean hadn’t slept much. He just couldn’t live with the current situation, torn between hope and the nagging feeling that it was hopeless. He needed clarity. He needed to tell Cas that – _goddamn it, Dean, say it_ – that he loved him. He needed to know whether Cas felt the same. And even if he didn’t, he would know for certain. Then he could try to move on; or grab the next bottle of whiskey.

Still he wasn’t completely pessimistic. Charlie’s words had done a great deal in reassuring him. _Just for once, Dean, please: Love yourself. Go for it._

His alarm clock was displaying half past five when he had finally made up his mind. In the morning, after a couple hours of sleep, he would go up to Cas and, even if it meant embarrassing himself tremendously, he would straight up tell him what he felt. No taksies backsies.

When he had woken up, he had dressed himself with a pair of jeans and an old, worn out flannel shirt and a _Led Zeppelin_ tee underneath. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, but when he had checked his reflection in the mirror, he had realized that it had reminded him of Cas. He had gone downstairs, his heart beating fast in anticipation, only to find the angel to be absent.

His courage had dropped immediately. Again Castiel had left; with no apparent reason and no word of good-bye. Telling him, what a ridiculous thought!

He was on edge all day. He listened intently for the traitorous rustling sound of wings. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do when Cas appeared.

After making breakfast to keep himself distracted, Charlie convinced him to play some video games with him.

He couldn’t concentrate on the game he was playing, however, but apparently neither could Charlie.

“What’s the matter with you two?” Sam asked. He was lounging in an armchair and had watched them play. “I’ve never heard a quieter round of Mario Cart. Where’s the passion?!”

Dean grunted.

Charlie put down her controller thoughtfully. It was in Cas’ interest that Dean knew about his feelings, wasn’t it? Castiel had asked for her help. Maybe he expected her to do something. Maybe she was supposed to fix things up in his absence. But he hadn’t said anything like it, had he?

“Dean, listen -”

“You know what, I’m gonna go eat something,” Dean announced, getting up.

“Dean, wait!”

But he was rushing out of the room as if a wendigo was chasing him.

“What’s the matter today?” Sam repeated. “Has something happened I should know about?”

“ _Destiel_ has happened. Or hasn’t happened, that is,” Charlie replied wearily.

 

* * *

 

Dean wasn’t especially hungry when he left for the kitchen. He just wanted to escape his nosy brother and sister in spirit.

He expected to find it just as they had left it in the morning, with the dirty dishes on the table and all. But the table was cleared and spotless. That had to be Sam. Who else would volunteer to do the dishes?

Another big surprise was the huge pile of apples on the kitchen counter. He could’ve sworn that they hadn’t been there when he was preparing breakfast. Had Sam hid them somewhere and brought them up only now?

Usually Dean wasn’t such a fan of anything that was remotely healthy, but even he, the notorious fast food lover, couldn’t deny that the apples looked tasty. They were big and round, golden with red cheeks.

“Hey, Dean, d’you wanna come with us? Charlie wants to go to a comic shop she found on the internet, it’s really close… we need to buy some more food, too. Since you transformed you’re eating like a horse -”

“What, haven’t you satisfied your farmers’ market fetish yet?” Dean asked.

“What?!”

“No need to hide your weird diet choices from me, dude,” Dean said.

Sam decided not to ask further questions, but just sighed.

“I take that as a No. See you in a couple hours, then.”

Sam left, leaving Dean alone with his frustration and twenty apples. He eyed them suspiciously. If this was some scheme of Sam’s to get him to eat healthier – an apple a day, or some of that shit – it was working. They looked delicious. He picked one from the neatly stacked pile and juggled with it. It felt good in his hands. He was just about to sink his teeth in its flesh when a familiar voice said: “Hello, Dean.”

He jumped, dropping the apple. It rolled all over the floor to where Cas stood, as stiff as a poker. The casual posture he’d been having the last couple days was gone. He was back in his tax accountant outfit and all in all looked like the awkward angel of the Lord Dean had learnt to love. Dean didn’t notice the change, however. He was fuming.

“Where in the fucking hell have you been?!” he shouted.

Castiel seemed startled by Dean’s angry words. When the hunter stormed toward him, he let himself be shoved against the tiled kitchen wall.

 “Can’t you at least drop a hint when you’re popping off?! You might not have noticed, but unlike you, I am not an angel of the Lord who can just sense the presence of people. So for the love of God, don’t just disappear!”

“D-Dean, I apologize, I didn’t mean to -”

“Just… next time, tell me when you’re leaving, ‘kay?!”

Embarrassed, he let go of the angel. He took a step back and massaged his knuckles, evading Cas’ gaze.

“What were you doing anyway?” he asked less aggressively.

“I…” Castiel started, clearing his throat.

He stooped and picked up the apple Dean had dropped. He turned it in his hands, not looking at Dean either.

“I picked some apples,” he said.

“That was you?”

“Yes. I took the liberty of -”

“You actually _handpicked_ them?”

He couldn’t be mad at Cas anymore. Only Cas could think of picking apples while there were tons of picked apples ready in stores.

“They are from a region in Northern Germany that is famous for its ancient cultivars.”

“And what are we supposed to do with a butt load of Northern German apples?” Dean asked.

“Well, aren’t apples essential for the making of apple pie?”

“Um, I guess so.”

“You love pie.”

“You’re damn right, I love pie,” Dean replied.

“I thought baking a pie might bring you joy. I believe you have a special affinity for apple pie, seeing that it reminds you of your late mother. So I picked some apples. I also went back to the house you were living in, shortly before you were born, and stole the recipe from Mary’s recipe book. Don’t worry; she knows it by heart, so it won’t affect your childhood -”

“Wait, you went all Doc Brown to steal my mom’s apple pie recipe?!” Dean asked in disbelief.

This had to be the most ridiculous time travelling mission ever. But it was sweet. The angel had gone back in fucking _time_ so he could get a slice of his mom’s trademark pastry. Dean eyed him with fondness. He couldn’t believe that Cas was doing this Valentine shit for him. It wasn’t even February.

“Do you disapprove? I can understand, altering time in a way, for such a mundane reason -”

“- No, no, it’s alright -” Dean quickly assured him.

“My intention was to make you happy,” Castiel said earnestly.

“Thanks, Cas.”

Instead of a reply Castiel touched his shoulder for a moment, locking eyes with Dean for a while. His gaze was intent, yet in a friendly way. It was one of these moments they shared, when Dean could completely forget that Sam was in the room or that they were hunting the stuff of nightmares.

“You know, Dean, in some cultures the apple is a symbol for love,” Castiel said.

He stretched out his hand that was wrapped around the apple Dean had dropped and handed it over to Dean. He accepted it with shaking fingers.

“Cas,” he breathed.

Castiel came closer with a hesitant step, giving Dean the space to evade him if that was what he desired. Dean didn’t dare moving. His heart was beating fast. The hand that had lain on his shoulder moved to cup his bright red cheek. A thumb stroked over the smooth chin free of stubble.

“Dean, I want to kiss you,” Cas announced seriously.

That was all Dean needed to hear. He closed the remaining distance between them, pulling Cas down by his tie. Months - hell, _years –_ of repressed feelings and sexual tension had led to this moment. Their mouths crashed together in one fervent motion.

It was all so much. The taste of Cas’ hot soft lips, the way the angel was reacting to his swift movements. What he lacked in experience he made up with eagerness. Castiel was passionate, if not hungry. It turned Dean on tremendously. He had always liked confident girls. Girls who didn’t wait for an invitation; who just took as much as they could get. And it felt exactly like this – like Cas wanted to devour him in the best possible way – except that he wasn’t a girl. He was tall and just physically overwhelming. It was great. He was used to being the stronger partner. Now he wasn’t. He was shorter and less muscular in his current shape and Castiel had his angel mojo, of course. There was no way he could’ve defended himself against the angel, unarmed as he was, but it felt brilliant to know that he didn’t have to. Because Cas wouldn’t hurt him. Cas loved him. Cas _loved_ him.

Cas’ hands had wandered into Dean’s long hair and he was tugging at it, pulling his head back slightly to gain a better access to Dean’s mouth. The angel’s stubble felt rough on Dean’s skin, as their faces were pressed together.

“Cas,” he moaned against his lips, struggling for breath, and really it was the only thing that he was able to say.

He couldn’t string a sentence together even if his life depended on it. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Never ever had a kiss felt like this. He had never been pining, never been yearning for someone like this. He hadn’t known the pain that accompanied it. With his life on the road, he’d seldom gotten to know someone intimately enough to develop such strong feelings for them. There had been Lisa, but she, too, had started out as a classic hook-up at a bar. There had been attraction right away. Dean had always been able to count on his good looks and girls usually succumbed to his charm.

So this was new and so so good.

He didn’t feel enough of Cas. There was too much clothing between them. He worked his hands between them, trying to get Cas to strip off his coat while keeping on making out. When the coat finally fell down to the ground, Dean wrapped his arms around the angel. He could feel the firm back muscles through the shirt’s thin fabric. They stumbled through the room until Dean hit against the kitchen counter. The crash caused them to halt for the first time. Dean was panting, staring up into Cas’ lust-blown eyes.

“I need you, man,” Dean said, “I need you… because I love you.”

“I love you, as well, Dean.”

Castiel leaned down for another kiss, this time gentle and soft. He felt a warm and tingling sensation spreading through him, quickly intensifying. It was more heat than warmth now. Then, suddenly, an acute pain shot through him.

“The fuck?!” he croaked.

He was growing. The fingers he had dug into the back of Cas’ shirt were becoming longer and thicker, his shoulders broader… meanwhile his hair was running through Cas’ fingers, until it was short on his head. He became taller and taller and Castiel seemed to shrink. The bra straps were cutting uncomfortably into his flesh. The fabric was stretching and stretching until it finally tore. The shirts that had been hanging loosely about him were now formfitting and the loose bra was pressed between them and his chest. His jeans were painfully narrow – everything about them was too small; the legs too short and the crotch area _definitely_ too tight.

“Ouch,” he made, his voice a deep rumble.

“I think you ought to take off your pants,” Castiel noted.

“Oh, so we’re already doing dirty talking,” Dean replied through clenched teeth.

“Let me assist you,” Castiel said, ignoring Dean’s comment.

He unbuttoned the pants carefully, unzipped them and then, without further ado, ripped them into pieces.

“Woah. Easy there, tiger,” Dean chuckled.

“It’s better now, isn’t it?” Castiel asked.

Dean looked down himself. He was glad that he had picked the boxers not the panties. Tight as they were, they still managed to cover everything up. His excitement was evident, still.

He was overcome with sudden shame. He turned away from Cas, trying to hide his boner. He was himself again, he was a man, what if, what if Cas wouldn’t -

“Dean, you’re beautiful.”

Castiel snaked an arm around him and kissed his neck. It tickled. Dean leaned back into Cas. No need to hide from Cas. No need to hide from Cas anymore. He closed his eyes.

“Wait. What just happened?!” Dean asked, turning back around to face Cas. “Don’t tell me it’s True Love’s First Kiss or some shit.”

“Something like that. See, the spell was generally used as a punishment for a smug husband – it was not intended to damage, but to teach a lesson. If the witch thought the lesson was learnt, she could lift the spell by kissing her husband with love.”

“You knew that?”

“I suspected.”

“So I could’ve been a guy all the time?”

“You kissed me in the mall, remember, still you stayed a woman. Both partners have to be aware of their feelings…”

“We’re aware now,” Dean mumbled.

“Yes,” Castiel replied hoarsely.

They kissed again, first almost lazily, but quickly becoming more enthusiastic.

“Apples are also a symbol of seduction, right?” Dean said lightly, as they paused so Dean could breathe.

“Actually, this is a common misconception. In the early versions of the Bible the Forbidden Fruit that my brother used to tempt Eve with is not named. It is due to a mistranslation that happened in -”

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading all this! I hope you liked it. Leave me some love and write a comment :)


End file.
